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THE 

NEW    ENGLISH    DRAMA, 

WITH 

FREFATORF  REMARKS, 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES,  AND  NOTES, 

(txiiitnX  antj  5S):|Jlanators ; 

Being  the  only  Edition  existing  which  is  faithfully  marked 
with  the 

STAGE    BTTSIXESS,  AND  STAGE    DIRECTIONS, 

AS   PERF0R31ED 


By  W.  OXBERRY,  Comedian. 


From  the  Last  London  Edition. 

VOLUME  SIX. 

CONTAINING 

RICHARD    III. LIONEL   AND    CLARISSA. 

CRITIC. 


BOSTON,- 

WELLS    AND    LILLY COURT-STREET, 

1824. 


©rtiervs'ss  iSJiftlon. 

i-  

RICHARD  THE  THIRD, 

A  TRAGEDY  ; 

ADAPTED  TO  THE    STAGE  BY  COLLEY  GIBBER. 


WITH  PREFATORY  REMARKS. 

THE   ONLY   EDITION  EXISTING,  WHICH    IS   FAITHFULLT 

MARKED    WITH    THE   STAGE    BUSINESS, 

AND  STAGE    DIRECTIONS, 

AS  IT  IS  PERFORMED  AT  THE 
By  W.    OXBERRY,  Comedian. 


BOSTON  : 

WELLS  AND  LILLY,— COURT-STREET, 

1822. 


^ 


KING  RICHARD  THE  THIRD. 


xV.i3VG  Richard  the  Third"  is  among  the  mo-st  popu- 
lar of  Shakspeare's  tragedies,  though  far  inferior  to  many 
other  efforts  of  the  same  mighty  master.  The  reason  of 
this  preference  is  perhaps  to  be  sought  in  the  common  pas- 
sions which  it  exhibits,  and  the  obvious  means  by  which 
those  passions  are  made  successful.  Ambition,  or  in  other 
words,  the  desire  of  acquiring  something  more  than  is  al- 
lotted to  us,  is  a  passion  proper  to  all  men  ;  no  matter  how 
high  or  low  the  object,  the  aflfection  is  the  same.  Here 
then  is  the  point  of  cojit  act  between  Richard  and  his 
audience,  and  the  means  that  he  employs  add  strongly  to 
the  impression  :  they  are  indeed  dexterous  and  daring  in 
the  highest  -degree,  but  we  see  them  only  in  their  effects  ; 
the  preparation  for  his  gigantic  projects,  which  must,  from 
its  nature,  be  too  subtle  for  common  apprehensions,  is  kept 
out  of  sight ;  we  are  hurried  from  one  grand  effect  to 
another,  without  pause,  without  argument  ;  and  as  the 
dullest  souls  can  admire  great  consequences,  though  few 
can  appreciate  the  means,  we  follow  Richard  with  undi- 
vided attention.  When  at  last  his  crimes  have  multiplied 
beyond  the  bounds  of  endurance,  and  disgust  is  begin- 
jning  to  arise,  the  poet  opens  a  new  source  of  pleasure  in 
}ns  Ueath. 


The  characters  of  Lady  Anne  and  Buckingham,  though 
obscured  by  the  splendid  iniquity  of  Rithard,  are  drawn 
with  wonderful  accuracy  and  power.  The  first  more  par- 
ticulaily,  is  seldom  considered  as  such  a  creation  should 
be  considered  ;  her  very  failings  endear  her  to  us  :  weak, 
but  not  vicious  ;  changeful,  but  not  deficient  in  affection, 
she  is,  of  all  objects,  the  most  calculated  for  tragic  pathos  ; 
her  miserable  fate  is  the  natural  consequence  of  her  errors, 
but  those  errors  are  so  skilfully  touched,  that  they  only  add 
to  our  compassion.  Buckingham,  proud,  high-minded,  and 
selfish,  is  the  portrait  of  half  mankind  ;  with  all  the  lesser 
vices  of  life  he  is  familiar  ;  he  goes  on  quickly  through  a 
course  of  iniquity  undisturbed  ;  no  feeling  of  gratitude,  or 
honour,  or  pity,  stops  him,  till  in  the  end,  murder,  the  last 
link  in  the  chain,  stares  him  in  the  face,  and  even  his  sel- 
fishn  ss  is  aroused  ;  but  even  here,  he  acts  from  impulse, 
and  not  from  any  exertion  of  the  understanding  ;  his  vices 
and  virtues  are  the  effect  of  habit. 

Of  Gibber's  alteration  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say 
much  ;  he  has  improved  the  play,  but  he  has  destroyed  the 
poem.  Shakspeare  had  oiiginally  conducted  the  plot  with 
sufficient  abniptness,  but  this  is  tenfold  increased  under  the 
hands  of  Gibber ;  still  he  deserves  no  little  credit,  and  if 
the  soliloquy  on  conscience  be  really  his  production,  and 
of  this  there  seems  no  rational  cause  for  doubt.  Pope's 
snarling  ciiticisra,  in  the  Dunciad,  reflects  disgrace  upon 
himself  and  not  his  victim  ;  but  Pope  was  an  ungenerous 
enemy,  a  worse  friend  :  on  the  one  he  would  trample  wheu- 
fallen,  and  the  other  he  would  deceive  when  trusting. 


Eimt  of  Mtpvtmniation. 


The  time  this  piece  takes  in  representation,  is  three  hours 
and  fourteen  minutes.  The  first  act  occupies  the  space 
of  forty  minutes — the  second,  thirty-nine — the  third,  thirty- 
five — the  fourth,  forty-two — the  fifth,  thirty-eight. — The 
half  price  commences,  generally,  at  about  nine. 


Stage  Directions, 


By  R.M".  -----   is  meant Right  Hand. 

L.H. Left  Hand. 

S.E. Second  Entrance. 

U.E. ._._  Upper  Entrance. 

M.D. Middle  Door. 

D.F. -_.-  —  ---_  Door  in  Flat. 

R.H.D.  --.--.-.------  Right  Hand  Doojc 

B.H.D.  --------------  Left  Hand  Doo«. 

1* 


(tmtximt. 


GLOSTER.— First  Dress.— Scarlet  doublet,  tiunks,  hose,  hat,  cloak, 
and  russt  boots  — Sec-  iid  Divss  —Black  ditto  ditto,  tinmmed  with  gold, 
criiasoii  velvet  rcl.e,  while  hose,  sooes,  and  plush  hat.— Third  Ditss.— 
Arii.oui  body,  and  hat 

KING  HENRY.— Purple  robe  and  tunic  richly  embroidered,  the  robe 
triniu cd  with  tnnine.  aiid  a  tijjpet  of  einiine.  ^ 

P:-.1NCR  OF  WALES.— First  Drrss.— White  satin  tunic,  crimson 
Telvei  r*'  it   I  :id  — S.coiid  Dress— Black  tunic.  Ibid. 

DUKE  OF  YORK— First  Dress.— AVhite  satin  tunic,  hose  and  shoes. 
— S-CO'U  Dress.— Blark  turic,  Ibid. 

BUCKINGHAM  —Black  velvet  robe,  and  fawn  coloured  tunic,  richly 
embitjidered 

NORFOLK  —Scarlet  tunic  richly  embroidered,  breast-plate  and  hel- 
met 

OXFORD  —First  Dress.— Green  robe  and  tunic  embroidered— Second 
Dress.— 'runic,  breastplate  and  helmet 

Richmond.— Buff  tunic,  scarlet  pantaloons,  breast-plate,  helmet,  russet 
boots,  &:c. 

STANLEY.— First  Dress  —Purple  robe,  orange  coloured  tunic  richly 
embroidered,  hat  and  feathers.— Second  Dress.— Tuuie,  breast-plate  and 
helmet. 

LIEU!  ENANT.— Green,  Ibid. 

LORD  MAYOR— Robe  and  tunic 

CATESBY  —First  Dress.- Light  blue  velvet  robe,  light  brown  tunic» 
embroidered.— Second  Dress.— Tunic  and  breast-plate. 

RATCLIFF  —First  Dress.-  Black  velvet  tunic  embroidered.— Second 
Dress.- Breast-plate  ajid  helmet. 

TRESSEL.— Dark  green,  Ibid. 

BLUNT.— Crimson,  Ibid. 

Richard's  Soldiers,  Ibid. 

Richmond's  Soldiers,  Grey,  Ibid. 

Officers,  coloured  tunics  to  correspond  with  the  Soldiers. 


qUEEN.—First  Dress.— White  cloth,  embroider^  with  gold,  large 
sleeves  hanging  from  the  wrists,  shoulder  robe  of  tlie  same  ;  white  crape 
handkerchief,  embroidered  w  ith  gold,  and  tiara  of  jewels.— Second  Dresst 
—Black  velvet,  and  crape  robe. 

LADY  ANNE— Black  velvet  dress,  black  crape  handkerchief,  biigle 
tiara 

DUCHESS  OF  YORK.-Black  velvet  dress  and  robe,  crape  handker- 
chief, and  bugle  tiara 

Four  Ladiesj— dreises,  8cc.  to  correspond* 


^trsonis  2Jlr4)vrsrnteT)[- 


DrurylatK»  Cavent-garden. 

King  Henry  the  Sixth      .    .    .  Mr.  Pope.  Mr.  Efferton, 

Prinre  of  Wales Miss  C.  Can*.  Miss  Boden. 

Duke  ofYurk Miss  G.  Carr.  Miss  C   Boden. 

Richard,  Duke  of  Gloster ,    ,    .  Mr.  Kean.  Mr   Macready. 

Duke  ofBurkingham   ....  Mr.  Holland.  Mr.  Terry. 

Duke  of  Norfolk Mr.  Thompson.  Mr.  Ct  mer. 

Richmond Mr.  Elliston.  Mr.  Abbott. 

Lord  Stanley Mr-  Powell.  Mr  Chapman. 

Catesby Mr    Harablin.  Mr.  Claremont. 

Ratcliff ^  ...  Mr.  Elliot.  Mr.  Treby. 

Oxford •    ...  Mr  Coveney.  Mr.  Menage, 

Blunt «    •    <  Mr.  Read.  Mr.  King. 

Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  ...  Mr.  Foote.  Mr.  Jefferie*. 

Tresset •  Mr.  Baniard.  Mr.  Connw. 

Lord  Mayor Mr.  Meredith.  Mr    Atkius. 

Tirrel Mr.  Vining.  Mr.  Norris. 

Forest ,    «    .  Mr.  Hudson.  Mr.  White. 

Dighton      . Mr.  Moreton.  Mr.  Louis. 

Officer Mr.  Buxton.  Mr.  Howell. 

Queen    . Mrs.  Glover.  Mrs.  Faucit. 

Lady  Anne    .    • Mrs.  W.  West.  Mrs.  Yates. 

Bfichets  of  Tork     .....  Mrs.  Knight.  Mrs*  Comicfr. ' 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— ^  View  of  the  Keep,  and  Gardens  of 
the  White  Tower. 

Enter  Lieutenant  and  Officer,  r.h. 

Lieut.    Has    King    Henry    walk'd   forth   this 
morning  ? 

Off.  No,  sir ;  but  it  is  near  his  hour. 

Lieut.  At  any  time  when  you  see  him  here,. 
Let  no  stranger  into  the  garden  ; 
I  would  not  have  him  star'd  at.     {Officer  crosses 

behind,  to  l.h.)   See,  who's  that. 
Now  ent'ring  at  the  gate.  {Knocking  within,  l.h.) 

Off  Sir,  the  Lord  Stanley. 

Lieut.  Leave  me. —  [Exit  Off.,  l.h. 

Enter  Lord  Stanley,  l,h. 

My  noble  lord,  you're  welcome  to  the  Tower  : 
I  heard  last  night  you  late  arrived  with  news 
Of  Edward's  victory,  to  his  joyful  queen. 


10  RICHARD  III. 

Stan.  Yes,  sir,  and  I  am  proud  to  be  the  man 
That  tirst  brought  home  the  last  of  civil  broils ; 
The  houses  now  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
Like  bloody  brothers  fighting  for  a  birth-right, 
No  more  shall  wound  the  parent  that  would  part 

""em  ; 
Edward  now  sits  secure  on  England's  throne. 

Lieut    Near  Tewksbury,  my  lord,  1  think  they 
fought : 
Has  the  enemy  lost  any  men  of  note  ? 

Stan.  Sir,  I  was  posted  home. 
Ere  an  account  was  taken  of  the  slain ; 
But  as  I  left  the  field,  a  proclamation 
From  the  king  was  made  in  search  of  Edward, 
Son  to  your  prisoner,  king  Henry  the  Sixth, 
Which  gave  reward  to  those  discov'nng  him, 
And  him  his  life  if  he'd  surrender. 

Lieut    That  brave  young  prince,  I  fear's  unlike 
his  father, 
Too  high  of  heart  to  brook  submissive  life  : 
This  will  be  heavy  news  lo  Henry's  ear, 
For  on  this  battle  s  cast  his  all  was  set. 

Stan.  King  Henry  and  ill-fortune  are  familiar  ; 
He  ever  threw  with  an  indifferent  hand. 
But  never  yet  was  known  to  lose  his  patience  : 
How  does  he  pass  the  time,  in  his  confinement  ? 

Lieut.  As  one  whose  wishes  never  reach'd  a 
crown  ; 
The  king  seems  dead  in  him,  but,  as  a  man, 
He  sighs  sometimes  in  want  of  liberty. 
Sometimes  he  reads,  and  walks,  and  wishes 
That  fate  had  bless'd  him  with  a  humbler  birth,. 
Not  to  have  felt  the  faihng  from  a  throne. 


RICHARD  III.  11 

Stan.  Were  it  not  possible  to  see  this  king  ? 
They  say  he'll  freely  talk  with  Edward's  friends, 
And  even  treats  them  with  respect  and  honour. 

Lieut,  This  is  his  usual  time  of  walking  forth,. 
(For  he's  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  garden,) 
After  his  morning  prayer  ;  he  seldom  fails  : 
Behmd  this  arbour  we  unseen  may  stand 
Awhile  to  observe  him.  {They  retire^  l.h.) 

Enter  Kme  Henry,  r.h. 

King  H.  By  this  time  the    decisive  blow  is 
struck. 
Either   my    queen    and   son   are    bless'd    with 

victory, 
Or  I'm  the  cause  no  more  of  civil  broils. 
Would  I  were  dead,  if  heav'n's  good- will  were  so, 
For  what  is  in  this  world  but  grief  and  care  ? 
What  noise  and  bustle  do  kings  make  to  tind  it ; 
When  life's  but  a  short  chace,  our  game  content, 
Which  most  pursu'd  is  most  compell'd  to  fly ; 
And  he  that  mounts  him  on  the  swiftest  hope. 
Shall  often  run  his  courser  to  a  stand ; 
While  the  poor  peasant  from  some  distant  hill, 
Undanger'd,  and  at  ease,  views  all  the  sport, 
And  sees  content  take  shelter  in  his  cottage. 

Stan.  He  seems  extremely  moved. 

Lieut.  Does  he  know  you  ? 

Stan.  No,  nor  would  I  have  him. 

lAeut.  We'll  show  ourselves. 

{They  come  forward^  l.h.) 

King  H.  Why,  there's  another  check  to  proud 
ambition  : 


12  RICHARD  III. 

That  man  received  his  charge  from  me,  and  now 
I  am  his  prisooer, — he  locks  me  to  my  rest. 
Such  an  unlook'd  tor  change  who  could  suppose, 
That  saw  him  kneel  to  kiss  the  hand  that  rais'd 

him  ! 
But  that  I  should  not  now  complain  of. 
Since  I  to  that,  'tis  possible  may  owe 
His  civil  treatment  of  me. — 'Morrow,  Lieutenant : 
Is  any  news  arriv'd  ? — Who's  that  with  you  ? 

Lieut.  A  gentleman  that  came  last  night  express 
From  Tewksbury. — We've  had  a  battle. 

King  H.  Comes  he  to  me  with  letters,  or  advice  ? 

Lieut.  Sir,  he's  king  Edward's  officer,  your  foe. 

King  H.  Then  he  won't  flatter  me. — You're 
welcome,  sir  ;  [Lieut,  retires  a  little.^  l.h.) 
Not  less  because  you  are  king  Edward's  friend, 
For  1  have  almost  learn'd  myself  to  be  so  j 
Could  1  but  once  forget  I  was  a  king, 
I  might  be  truly  happy,  and  his  subject. 
You've  gained  a  battle  ;  is't  not  so  ? 

Stan.  We  have,  sir, — how,   will  reach  your 
ear  too  soon. 

King  H.  If  to  my  loss,  it  can't  too  soon, — 
pray  speak. 
For  fear  makes  mischief  greater  than  it  is. 
My  queen  !  my  son  !  say,  sir,  are  they  living  ? 

Stan.  Since  my  arrival,  sir,  another  post 
Came  in,  and  brought  us  word  your  queen  and  son 
Were  prisoners  now  at  Tewksbury. 

King  H.  Heaven's  will  be  done  !  the"  hunters 
have  'em  now. 
And  I  have  only  sighs  and  prayers  to  help  'em 


RICHARD  III.  13 

Stan,  King   Edward,   sir,   depends   upon   his 

sword ; 
Yet  prays  heartily  when  the  battle's  won  ; 
And  soldiers  love  a  bold  and  active  leader. 
Fortune,  like  women,  will  be  close  pursued ; 
The  English  are  high  mettled,  sir,  and  'tis 
No  easy  part  to  tit  'em  well ; — King  Edward 
Feels  their  temper,  and  'twill  be  hard  to  throw 

him. 
King  H.    Alas !    I   thought   them   men,   and 

rather  hop'd 
To  win  their  hearts  by  mildness  than  severity. 
My  soul  was  never  formed  for  cruelty  : 
In  my  eyes  justice  has  seem'd  bloody  ; — 
When  on  the  city  gates  1  have  beheld 
A  traitor's  quarters  parching  in  the  sun. 
My  blood  has  turn'd  with  horror  at  the  sight  j 
I  took  'em  down,  and  buried  with  his  limbs 
The  memory  of  the  dead  man's  deeds ; — perhapf 
That  pity  made  me  look  less  terrible, 
Giving  the  mind  of  weak  rebellion  spirit ; 
For  kings  are  put  in  trust  for  all  mankind, 
And  when  themselves  take  injuries,  who  is  safe  ? 
If  so,  I  have  deserv'd  these  frowns  of  fortune. 

Enter  Officer,  l.h. 

Off.  Sir,  here's  a  gentleman  brings  a  warrant 
For  his  access  to  king  Henry's  presence. 

Lieut,  1  come  to  him.  {^Exit  Officer,,  l.h. 

Stan,  His  business  may  require  your  privacy  ; 
I'll  leave  you,  sir,  wishing  you  all  the  good 
That  can  be  wish'd, — not  wronging  him  I  serve. 
2 


14  RICHARD  III. 

King  H.  Farewell  ! 

[Exeunt  Stanley  and  Lieutenant^  l.h. 
Who  can  this  be  ? — A  sudden  coldness, 
Like  the  damp  hand  of  death,  has  seized  my 

limbs  : 
I  fear  some  heavy  news  ! — 

Re-enter  Lieutenant,  l.h. 

Who  is  it,  good  Lieutenant  ? 

Lieut.    A  gentleman,  sir,  from  Tewksbury : 
he  seems 
A  melancholy  messenger, — for  when  I  ask'd 
What  news,  his  answer  was  a  deep-fetch'd  sigh  j 
I  would  not  urge  him,  but  I  fear  'tis  fatal. 

[Exit^  L.H. 
King  H.  Fatal  indeed  !  his  brow's  the  title  page, 
That  speaks  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume. — 

Enter  Tressel,  l.h. 

Say,  friend,  how  does  my  queen  ?  My  son  ? 
Thou  tremblest,  and  the  whiteness  of  thy  cheek 
Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 
Ev'n  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 
So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone, 
Drew  Priam's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night ; 
And  would  have  told  him  half  his  Troy  was  burn'd: 
But  Priam  found  the  tire  ere  he  his  tongue, 
And  I  my  poor  son's  death  ere  thou  relat'*st  it. 
Now  would'st  thou  say, — your  son  did  thus  and 

thus. 
And  thus  your  queen !   so  fought   the   valiant 

Oxford  J 


RICHARD  III.  15 

Stopping  my  greedy  ear  with  their  bold  deeds  j 
But,  in  the  end,  (to  stop  my  ear  indeed,) 
Thou  hast  a  sigh  to  blow  away  this  praise, 
Ending  with, — queen  and  son,  and  all  are  dead. 

Tres.  Your  queen  yet  lives,  and  many  of  youf 
friends  : 
But  for  my  lord  your  son — 

King  H.    Why,    he   is   dead ! — yet  speak,  I 
charge  thee  ! 
Tell  thou  thy  master  his  suspicion  lies, 
And  I  will  take  it  as  a  kind  disgrace. 
And  thank  thee  well,  for  doing  me  such  wrong. 

Tres.  Would  it  were  wrong  to  say ;  but,  sir, 
your  fears  are  true. 

King  H.  Yet,  for  all  this,  say  not  my  son  is  dead. 

Tres.  Sir,  I  am  sorry  1  must  force  you  to 
Believe,  what  would  to  heav'n  I  had  not  seen : 
But  in  this  last  battle  near  Tewksbury, 
Your  son,  whose  active  spirit  lent  a  fire 
Ev'n  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  our  camp, 
Still  made  his  way  where  danger  stood  to  oppose 

him. 
A  braver  youth,  of  more  courageous  heat, 
Ne'er  spurr'd  his  courser  at  the  trumpet's  sound. 
But  who  can  rule  the  uncertain  chance  of  war  ? 
In  fine,  king  Edward  won  the  bloody  field, 
Where  both  your  queen  and  son  were  made  his 
prisoners. 

King  H.  Yet  hold  :  for  oh  !  this  prologue  lets 
me  in 
To  a  most  fatal  tragedy  to  come. 
Died  he  a  prisoner  say'st  thou  ?  How  ?  by  grief? 
Or  by  the  bloody  hands  of  those  that  caught  him  ? 


16  RICHARD  III. 

Tres.  After  the  fight,  Edward  in  triumph  ask'd 
To  see  the  captive  prince ; — the  prince  was 

brought, 
Whom  Edward  roughly  chid  for  bearing  arms  ; 
Asking  what  reparation  he  could  make 
For  having  stirr'd  his  subjects  to  rebellion  ? 
Your  son,  impatient  of  such  taunts,  rephed, 
Bow  hke  a  subject,  proud  ambitious  York, 
While  I,  now  speaking  with  my  father's  mouth, 
Propose  the  self-same  rebel  words  to  thee, 
Which,  traitor,  thou  would'st  have  me  answer  to ; 
From  these,  more  words  arose,  till  in  the  end, 
King  Edward  swell'd  with  what  the  unhappy 

prince 
At  such  a  time  too  freely  spoke,  his  gauntlet 
In  his  young  face  with  indignation  struck  ; 
At  which  crook'd  Richard,  Clarence,  and  the  rest, 
Buried  their  fatal  daggers  in  his  heart. 
In  bloody  state  1  saw  him  on  the  earth, 
From  whence  with  life  he  nevermore  sprung  up. 
King  H.  Oh !    had'st  thou    stabb'd   at  every 

word's  deliverance 
Sharp  poniards  in  my  flesh,  while  this  was  told, 
Thy  wounds  had  given  less  anguish  than  thy 

words. 
Oh  heav'n  !  methinks  I  see  my  tender  lamb 
Gasping  beneath  the  rav'nous  wolves'  fell  gripe 
But  say,  did  all ; — did  they  all  strike  him,  say'st 

thou? 
Tres.  All,  sir  ;  but  the  first  wound  duke  Rich- 
ard gave. 
King  H.  There  let  him  stop  :  be  that  his  last 

of  ills  ! 


RICHARD  111.  17 

Oh  !  barbarous  act  !  inhospitable  men  ! 
Against  the  rigid  laws  of  arms,  to  kill  him  ! 
Was't  not  enough  his  hope  of  birth-right  gone, 
But  must  your  hate  be  levelled  at  his  life  ? 
Nor  could  his  father's  wrongs  content  you  ; 
Nor  could  a  father  s  grief  dissuade  the  deed  ? 
You  have  no  children  ! — butchers,  if  you  had. 
The   thought  of  them  would  sure  have  stirr'd 
remorse. 
Tres.  Take  comfort,  sir,  and  hope  a  better  day. 
King  H.  Oh  I  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand, 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus  ? 
Or  wallow  naked  in  December's  snow, 
By  bare  remembrance  of  the  summer's  heat? 
Away; — by  heaven  1  shall  abhor  his  sight, 
"Whoever  bids  me  be  of  comfort  more  ! 
If  thou  wilt  soothe  my  sorrows  then  I'll   thank 

thee; 
Ay,  now  thou'rt  kind  indeed !  these  tears  oblige 
me. 
Tres.  Alas  !  my  lord,  I  fear  more  evils  towards 

you. 
King  H.  Why,  let  it  come,  I  scarce  shall  feel 
it  now  : 
My  present  woes  have  beat  me  to  the  ground  : 
And  my  hard  fate  can  make  me  fall  no  lower. 
What  can  it  be  ? — Give  it  it's  ugliest  shape  ; — 
Oh  !  my  poor  boy  ! 

Tres.  A  word  does  that,  it  comes  in  Gloster's 

form. 
King.  H.  Frightful  indeed  !  give  me  the  worst 
that  threatens. 

^* 


18  RICHARD  III. 

Tres.  After  the  murder  of   j^our  son,  stern 

Richard, 
As  if  unsated  with  the  wounds  he  had  given, 
With  unwashM  hands  went  from  his  friends  in 

haste  ; 
And  being  asked  by  Clarence  of  the  cause, 
He  lowering  cried,  brother,  I  must  to  the  Tower ; 
IVe  business  there ;  excuse  me  to  the  king  : 
Before  you  reach  the  town,  expect  some  news ; 
This  said,  he  vanished, — and  I  hear's  arrived. 
King  H.  Why  then  the  period  of  my  woes  is 

set! 
For  ills  but  thought  by  him  are  half  performed. 

Enter  Lieutenant,  with  an  Order^  l.h. 

Lieut.  Forgive  me,  sir,   what  I'm  compell'd 
t'obey  : 
An  order  for  your  close  confinement. 

King  H.  Whence  comes  it,  good  Lieutenant  I 
Lieut.  Sir,  from  the  duke  of  Gloster. 
King  H.  Good  night  to  all  then  ; — I  obey  it. 
(^Lieut,  retires  a^  little^  r.h.) 
And  now,  good  friend,  suppose  me  on  my  death- 
bed. 
And  take  of  me  thy  last,  short-living  leave. 
Nay,  keep  thy  tears  till  thou  hast  seen  me  dead  ; 
And  when  in  tedious  winter  nights,  with  good 
Old  folks  thou  sitt'st  up  late 
To  hear  'em  tell  the  dismal  tales 
Of  times  long  past,  ev'n  now  with  woe  remem- 

ber'd 
Before  thou  bidd'st  good  night,  to  quit  their  grief, 
Tell  thou  the  lamentable  fall  of  me. 


RICHARD  III.  19 

And  send  thy  hearers  weeping  to  their  beds. 

[Exeunt^  King  Henry ^  and  Lieut,  r.h.  Tressel,  l.h. 

SCENE  II. — The   Entrance  to    the  Inner    Ward- 
Enter  Gloster,  l.h. 

Glos.  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Blade  glonous  summer  by  the  sun*  of  York ; 

And  all  the  clouds,  that  iowerd  upon  our  house. 

In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 

Now  are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious 
wreaths, 

Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  for  monuments ; 

Our  stern  alarums  are  chang'd  to  merry  meet- 
ings ; 

Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 

Grim-visag'd   war  has    smooth'd    his    wrinkled 
front ; 

And  now, — instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds^ 

To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries,-— 

He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady  s  chamber, 

To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute  : 

But  I, — that  am  not  shap'd  for  sportive  tricks, 

Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass ; 

I, — that  am  rudely  stamp'd,  and  want  love's  ma- 
jesty, 

To  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph ; 

I, — that  am  curtaii'd  of  man's  fair  proportion. 

*  Alluding  to  the  cognizance  of  Edward  IV.  which  was  a 
sun,  in  memory  oi  the  three  suns  vhich  pre  said  to  have 
appeared  at  the  battle  which  he  gained  ovei  the  Lancastri- 
ans, at  Mortimer's  Cross. 


20  RICHARD  111. 

Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature. 
Deform'd,  untiaish'd,  sent  before  my  time 
Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely,  and  unfashionable. 
That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  I  halt  by  them ; — 
Why  I, — in  this  weak,  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  my  hours, 
Unless  to  see  my  shadow  in  the  sun, 
And  descant  on  my  own  deformity : 
Then,  since  this  earth  affords  no  joy  to  me, 
But  to  command,  to  check,  and  o'erbear  such 
As  are  of  happier  person  than  myself; 
Why  then,  to  me  this  restless  world's  but  hell, 
Till  this  mis-shapen  trunk's  aspiring  head 
Be  circled  in  a  glorious  diadem  ; — 
But  then  'tis  fixed  on  such  a  height ;  oh  !  I 
Must  stretch  the  utmost  reaching  of  my  soul. 
I'll  climb  betimes,  without  remorse  or  dread, 
And  my  first  step  shall  be  on  Henry's  head. 

[Exit^  R.H. 

?^CENE     III.— ^ing    Henry's     Chamber,— King 
Henry  discovered  sleeping. 

Enter  Lieutenant,  r.h.d. 

Lieut.  Asleep  so  soon,  but  sorrow  minds  no 
seasons. 
The  morning,  noon,  and  night,  with  her's  the 

same  ; 
She's  fond  of  any  hour  that  yield's  repose. 
King H.  (Waking.)  Who's  there!  Lieutenant ! 
is  it  you  ?  Come  hither ! 


RICHARD  III.  21 

Lieut.  You  shake,  my  lord,  and  look  affrighted. 
King  H.  Oh  !  I  have  had  the  fearfuU'st  dream  ! 
such  sights, 
That,  as  I  live, 

I  would  not  pass  another  hour  so  dreadful, 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  work!  of  happy  days. 
Reach  me  a  book  ; — I'll  try  if  reading  can 
Divert  these  melancholy  thoughts. — [Lieut,  gives 
him  a  book  which  he  takes  from  the  table.) 

Enter  Gloster,  r.h.d. 

Glos.  Good  day,  my  lord;  what,  at  your  book 
so  hard  ? 
I  disturb  you.     {Lieut,  advances  to  r.h.d.) 
King  H.  You  do  indeed. 
Glos.    {To  Lieut.)    Friend,   leave   us  to  our- 
selves, we  must  confer. 

King  H.  What  bloody  scene  has  Roscius  now 
to  act  ?  [Exit  Lieut,  r.h.d. 

Glos.  Suspicion  always  haunts  the  guilty  mmd  ; 
The  thief  does  fear  each  bush  an  officer. 
King  H.  Where  thieves  without   controlment 
rob  and  kill. 
The  traveller  does  fear  each  bush  a  thief: 
The  poor  bird  that  has  been  already  limd, 
"With  trembling  wings  misdoubts  of  every  bush-: 
And  I,  the  hapless  mate  of  one  sweet  bird, 
Have  now  the  iatal  object  in  my  eye. 
By  whom  my  young  one  bled,   was  caught,  and 
kill'd. 
Glos.  Why  what  a  peevish  fool   was  that  ot 
Crete, 


22  RICHARD  III. 

That  taught  his  son  the  office  of  a  fowl ! 

And  yet  for  all  his  wings,  the  fool  was  drown'd  ; 

Thou  shoLild'st  have  taught  thy  boy  his  prayers 

alone, 
And  then  he  had  not  broke  his  neck  with  climb- 
ing. 
King  H.  Ah !  kill  me  with  thy  weapon,  not 
thy  words  ; 
My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point. 
Than  can  my  ears  that  piercing  story; 
But  wherefore  dost  thou  come  ?  Is't  for  my  life  ? 
Glos.  Think's  thou  I  am  an  executioner  ? 
King  H.  If  murdering  innocents  be  executing, 
Then  thouVt  the  worst  of  executioners. 
Glos.  Thy  son  I  kill'd  for  his  presumption. 
King  H.  Had'st  thou  been  kilFd  when  first 
thou  didst  presume, 
Thou  had'st  not  lived  to  kill  a  son  of  mine  : 
But  thou  wert  born  to  massacre  mankind. 
How  many  old  men's  sighs,  and  widows'  moan^ ; 
How  many  orphan's  water  standing  eyes  ; 
Men  for  their  sons,  wives  for  their  husband's  fate, 
And  children  for  their  parent's  timeless  death, 
Will  rue  the  hour  that  ever  thou  wert  born ! 
The  owl  shriek'd  at  thy  birth,  an  evil  sign  ! 
The  night-crow  cry'd,  foreboding  luckless  times ; 
Dogs  howl'd,  and  hideous  tempests  shook  down 

trees ; 
The  raven  rook'd  her  on  the  chimney  top, 
And  chattermg  pies  in  dismal  discord  sung ; 
Thy  mother  felt  more  than  a  mother's  pain, 
And  yet  brought  forth  less  than  a  mother's  hope. 
Teeth  had'st  thou  in  thy  head  when  thou  wert 
born. 


RICHARD  III.  23 

Which  plainly  said,  thou  cam'st  to  bite  mankind; 
And  if  the  rest  be  true  which  I  have  heard, 
Thou  cam'st — 

Glos.  ril  hear  no  more  ; — die,  prophet,  in  thy 
speech ; 
For  this,  among  the  rest,  was  I  ordain'd. 

(^ Stabs  him.') 
King  H.  Oh !  and   for  much  more   slaughter 
after  this  ; 
Just  heav''n  forgive  my  sins,  and  pardon  thee  ! 

{Di(s.) 
Glos.  What !  will  the   aspiring  blood  of  Lan- 
caster 
Sink  in  the  ground? — I   thought  it  would  have 

mounted. — 
See  how  my  sword  weeps  for  the  poor  king'* 

death. 
Oh,  may  such  purple  tears  be  always  shed, 
From  those  that  wish  the  downfall  of  our  house ! 
If  any  spark  of  life  be  yet  remaining, 
Down,  down  to  hell,  and  say  I  sent  the  thither  ; 

(Stabs  him.) 
I,  that  have  neither  pity,  love,  nor  fear. 
Indeed,  'tis  true  what  Henry  told  me  of  ; 
For  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  say, 
I  came  into  the  world  with  my  legs  forward : 
The  midwife  wonder'd,  and  the  women  cry'd. 
Good  heaven  bless  us  !  he  is  born  with  teeth  ! 
And  so  I  was  which  plainly  signified, 
That  I  should  snarl,  and  bite,  and  play  the  dog. 
Then  since  the  heav'ns  have  shap'd  my  body  so. 
Let  hell  make  crook'd  mj^  mind  to  answer  it  I 
I  have  no  brother,  am  like  no  brother. 


24  RICHARD  III. 

And  this  word  love,  which  grey-beards  call  di- 
vine, 
Be  resident  in  men  like  one  another, 
And  not  in  me  ; — I  am, — myself  alone. 
Clarence,  beware,  thou  keep'st  me  from   the 

light ; 
But  if  I  fail  not  in  my  deep  intent, 
Thou'st  not  another  day  to  live  ;  which  done, 
Heav'n  take  the  weak  king  Edward  to  his  mercy, 
And  leave  the  world  for  me  to  bustle  in.     [won. 
But  soft; — Pm  sharing  spoil,  before  the  field  is 
Clarence  still  breathes,   Edward  still  lives  and 

reigns. 
When  they  are  gone,  then  I  must  count  my  gains. 

[Exit,  R.H.D. 
END    OF     ACT  J. 


ACT  II. 
SCENE  l.—Ludgaie. 


Enter  Tressel,  l.h.  meeting  Lord  Stanley,  who 
enters  r.h.u.e. 

Tres.    My   lord,  your   servant ;     pray     what 

brought  you  to  St  Paul's  ? 
Stan.  I   came  among  the  crowd,  to  see  the 
corpse 
Of  poor  King  Henry  :  'tis  a  dismal  sight. 


RICHARD  III.  25 

But  yesterday  I  saw  him  in  the  Tower : 
His  talk  is  still  so  fresh  within  my  memory, 
That  I  could  weep  to  think  how  fate   has  used 

him. 
I  wonder  where's  duke  Richard's  policy, 
In  suffering  him  to  lie  exposed  to  view  ; 
Can  he  believe  that  men  will  love  him  for't? 
■    Tns,  O  yes,  sir,  love  him  as  he  loves  his 

brothers. 
When  was  you  with  king  Edward,  pray,  my  lord? 
J  hear  he  leaves  his  food,  is  melancholy ; 
And  his  physicians  fear  him  mightily. 

Stan.  'Tis  thought  he'll  scarce  recover. 
Shall  we  to  court,  and  hear  more  news  of  him. 

(^Crosses  to  l.h.) 
Tres.  1  am  obliged  to  pay  attendance  here  : 
The  lady  Anne  has  license  to  remove 
King  Henry's  corpse  to  be  interred  at  Chertsey  ; 
And  I'm  engag'd  to  follow  her. 

Stan.  Mean  you  king  Henry's  daughter-in-law  ? 
Tres.  The  same,  sir  ;  widow  to  the  late  prince 
Edward, 
Whom  Gloster  killed  at  Tewksbury. 

Stan,  Alas  !  poor  lady,  she's  severely  used : 
And  yet,  I  hear,  Richard  attempts  her  love  : 
Methinks  the  wrongs  he's  done  her  might  dis- 
courage him. 
Tres.    Neither  those    wrongs,    nor  his  own 
shape,  can  fright  him. 
He  sent  for  leave  to  visit  her  this  morning. 
And  she  was  forc'd  to  keep  her  bed  to  avoid  him  : 
But  see,  she  is  arriv'd  ; — will  you  along 
To  see  this  doleful  ceremonv  ? 


^  RICHARD  III. 

Stan.  I'll  wait  upon  you.  [Exeunt  k.h.  xj.e. 

Enter  Gloster,  l.h. 

Glos.  'Twas  her  excuse  to  avoid  me.     Alas  ! 
She  keeps  no  bed  : — 
She    has    health    enough  to  progress    far    as 

Chertsey, 
Though  not  to  bear  the  sight  of  me. 
I  cannot  blame  her  ; — 

Why,  love  forswore  me  in  my  mothers  womb  ; 
And,  for  I  should  not  deal  in  his  soft  laws, 
He  did  corrupt  frail  nature  with  a  bribe, 
To  shrink  my  arm  up  Hke  a  withered  shrub, 
To  make  an  envious  mountain  on  my  back, 
Where  sits  deformity  to  mock  my  body ; 
To  shape  my  legs  of  an  unequal  size, 
To  disproportion  me  in  every  part. 
And  am  I  then  a  man  to  be  belov'd  ? 
Oh  monstrous  thought !  more  vain  than  my  am- 
biiion. 

Enter  Lieutenant,  hastily,  l.h. 

Lieut.  My  lord,  I  beg  your  grace — 
Glos.  Be  gone,  fellow  !  I'm  not  at  leisure. 
Lieut.  My  lord,  the  king^your  brother's  taken 

ill. 
Glos.  rU  wait  on  him  :  leave  me  friend. 

[Exit.)  Lieut,  l.h. 
Ha !  Edward  taken  ill ! 

Would  he  were  wasted,  marrow,  bones,  and  all, 
That  from  his  loins  no  more  young  brats  may  rise, 


RICHARD  III.  27 

To  cross  me  in  the  golden  time  I  look  for. 

Ejiter  Lady  An\e,  in  mourning,  Lord  Stanley, 

Tressel,  Guards  and  Bearers,  with 

King  Henrifs  Body,  r.h.  u.e. 

But  see,  my   love   appears ! — Look  where  she 

shines, 
Darting  pale  lustre,  like  the  silver  moon, 
Through  her  dark  veil  of  rainy  sorrow  ! 
So  mournM  the  dame  of  Ephesus  her  love ; 
And  thus  the  soldier,  arm  d  with  resolution. 
Told  his  soft  tale,  and  was  a  thriving  wooer, 
'Tis  true,  my  form  perhaps  may  little  move  her, 
But  Pve  a  tongue  shall  wheedle  with  the  devil : 
Why,  I  can  smile,  p.nd  murder  while  1  smile  ; 
And  cry,  content,   to    that   which  grieves   my 

heart ; 
And  wet  my  cheeks  with  artificial  tears, 
And  frame  my  face  to  all  occasions. 
Yet  hold,  she  mourns  the  man  that  I  have  kill'd. 
First  let  her  sorrows  take  some  vent: — stand 

here  ; 
I'll  take  her  passion  in  its  wane,  and  turn 
This  storm  of  grief  to  gentle  drops  of  pity, 
For  his  repentant  murderer.     {Retires  b.h.  u.e.) 
Lady   A.  {Advancing  to  the  centre  of  the  stage.) 
Hung  be  the  heavens  with  black  ;  yield  day  to 

night  : 
Comets  importing  change  of  times  and  states, 
Brandish  your  fiery  tresses  in  the  sky, 
And  with  them  scourge  the  bad  revolting  stars. 
That  have  consented  to  king  Henry's  death. 


28  RICHARD  III. 

Oh  !  be  accurst  the  hand  that  shed  his  blood, 
Accurst  the  head,  that  had  the  heart  to  do  it ; 
If  ever  he  have  wife,  let  her  be  made 
More  miserable  by  the  life  of  him. 
Than  I  am  now  by  Edward's  death  and  thine. 
Glos.  Poor  giri,  what  pains  she  takes  to  curse 

herself!  (^Jiside.) 
Lady  A.  If  ever  he  have  child,  abortive  be  it, 
Prodigious,  and  untimely  brought  to  light. 
Whose  hideous  form,  whose  most  unnatural  as- 
pect. 
May  fright  the  hopeful  mother  at  her  view, 
And  that  be  heir  to  his  unhappiness  !* 
Now  on  to  Chertsey,  with  your  sacred  load. 
Glos.     (Advancing  l.p.)     Stay,   you  that  bear 

the  corse,  and  set  it  down. 
Lady  A.  What   black   magician   conjures  up 
this  fiend. 
To  stop  devoted  charitable  deeds? 

Glos.  Villains,  set  down  the  corse  ;  or,  by  St. 
Paul, 
I'll  make  a  corse  of  him  that  disobeys. 

Guard.  My  lord,  stand  back,  and  let  the  coffin 

pass. 
Glos.  Unmanner'd  slave  !  stand   thou  when  I 
command  : 
Advance  thy  halbert  higher  than  my  breast. 
Or,  by  St.  Paul,  I'll  strike  thee  to  my  foot. 
And  spurn  upon  thee,  beggar,  for  thy  boldness. 
Lady  A.  Why   dost  thou  haunt  him  thus,  un- 
sated  fiend  ? 

*  Disposition  to  mischief. 


RICHARD  III.  29 

Thou  hast  but  power  over  his  mortal  body; 
His  soul  thou  canst  not  reach,  therefore  be  gone. 
Gl'S.  Sweet  saint,  be  not  so  hard,  for  charity. 
Lady  A.   If  thou  delight  to  view  thy  heinous 
deeds, 
Behold  this  pattern  of  thy  butcheries. 
Why  didst  thou  do  this  deed  ?  Could  not   the 

laws 
Of  man,  of  nature,  nor  of  heav'n  dissuade  thee  ? 
No  beast  so   fierce,  but  knows   some  touch  of 
pity. 
Glos.  If  want  of  pity  be  a  crime  so  hateful, 
Whence  is  it  thou,  fair  excellence,  art  guilty  ? 
Lady  A.  What  means  the  slanderer  ? 
Glos.  Vouchsafe,  divine  perfection  of  a  woman. 
Of  these  my  crimes  suppos'd,  to  give  me  leave 
By  circumstance  but  to  acquit  myself 

Lady  Ji.  Then  take  that  sword,  whose  bloody 
point  still  reeks 
With  Henry's  hfe,  with  my  lov'd  lord's,  young 

Edward's, 
And   here  let  out  thy   own,  to   appease  their 
ghosts. 
Glos.  By  such  despair,  1  should  accuse  myself 
Lady  A  Why,  by  despairing  only  canst  thou 
stand  excus'd  ! 
Didst  thou  not  kill  this  king  ? 
Glos.  I  grant  ye. 

Lady  A.  O  he  was  gentle,  loving,  mild,  and 
virtuous  ; — 
But  he's  in  heaven,  where  thou  canst  never 
come. 

3  * 


30  RICHARD  HI. 

Glos,  Was  I    not   kind   to  send  him    thither, 
then? 
He  was  much  fitter  for  that  place  than  earth. 
Lady   A.  And   thou  unfit  fi)r  any  place,  but 
'hell. 

Glos.  Yes,  one  place  else  ; If  you  will  hear 

me  name  it. 
Lady  A.  Some  dungeon. 
Glos.  Your  bed-chamber. 
Lady  A.  Ill  rest  betide   the  chamber  where 

thou  liest. 
Glos.  So  it  will,  madam,  till  I  lie  in  your's. 
Lady  A    I  hope  so. 

Glos.  I  know  so.     But,  gentle  lady  Anne, — 
To  leave  this  keen  encounter  of  our  tongues. 
And  fall  to  something  of  more  serious  method  j 
Is  not  the  causer  of  the  untimely  deaths 
Of  these  Plantagenets,  Henry,  and  Edward, 
As  blameful  as  the  executioner  ? 

Lady  A.  Thou  wert  the   cause,  and  most  acn 

curst  effect. 
Glos.  Your  beauty  was  the  cause  of  that  effect : 
Your  beauty,  that  did  haunt  me  in  my  sleep 
To  undertake  the  death  of  all  the  world. 
So  I  might  live  one  hour  in  that  soft  bosom  ! 

Lady  A.  \{\  thought  that,  I  tell  thee,  homicide, 
These  hands  should  rend  that  beauty  from   my 
cheeks. 
Glos.  These  eyes  could  not  endure  that  beaur 
ty's  wreck : 
You  should  not  blemish  it,  if  I  stood  by  : 
As  all  the  world  is  nourish'd  by  the  sun, 
So  I  by  that :  it  is  my  day,  my  life  ! 


RICHARD  III.  31 

Lady  A.  I  would  it  were,  to  be  reveng'd  on 

thee. 
Glos.  It  is  a  quarrel  most  unnatural, 
To  wish  revenge  on  him  that  loves  thee. 

Lady  A.  Say,  rather,  'tis  my  duty, 
To  seek  revenge  on  him  that  kilPd  my  husband. 
Glos.  Fair  creature  he  that  kilPd  thy  husband 
Did  it  to  help  thee   to  a  better  husband. 

Lady  A.  His  better  does  not  breathe  upon  the 

earth. 
Glos.  He  lives  that  loves  thee  better  than  he 

could. 
Lady  A.   Name  him. 
Glos.  Plantagenet. 
Lady  A.  Why  that  was  he. 
Glos.    Che  selfsame  name,  but  one  of  softer 

nature. 
Lady  A    Where  is  he  ? 
Glos.  Ah,  take  more  pity  in  thy  eyes,  and  see 

him — here  ! 
Lady  A.  Would  they  were  basilisks  to  strike 

thee  dead.     {Crosses  to  r.h.) 
Glos.  I  would  they  were,  that  I  might  die  at 
once. 
For  now  they  kill  me  with  a  living  death  ; 
Darting,  with  cruel  aim,  despair  and  love  I 
I  never  sued  to  friend  or  enemy  : 
My    tongue    could   never   learn   soft,   soothing 

words : 
But  now  thy  beauty  is  propos  d  my  fee. 
My  proud  heart  sues,  and  prompts  my  tongue  to 
speak. 
Lady  J.  Is  there  a  tongue  oa  earth  can  speak 
for  thee  : 


32  RICHARD  111. 

Why  dost  thou  court  my  hate  ? 

Glos.  Oh  teach  not  thy  soft   lips  such   cold 
contempt. 
If  thy  relentless  heart  cannot  forgive, 
Lo !  here  I  lend  thee   this  sharp-pointed  sword, 
Which,  if  thou  please  to  hide  in  this  true  hreast, 
And  let  the  honest  soul  out  that  adores  thee ; 
I  lay  it  naked  to  the  deadly  stroke, 

(iSAe  takes  the  sword.) 
And  humbly  beg  that  death  upon  my  knee. 

(^Kneels.) 
Lady  A.  What  shall  I  say  or  do  !  Direct  me, 

heaven  !  [Aside.) 
Glos.  Nay,  do  not  pause,  for  I   did  kill  king 
Henry ! 

(She  offers  to  strike.) 
But  'twas  thy  wondrous  beauty  did  provoke  me; 
Or  now  despatch — 'twas   i   that  stabb'd  young 
Edward : 

[She  offers  to  strike.) 
But  'twas  thy  heavenly  face  that  set  me  on  ! 
And  I  might  still  persist  (so  stubborn  is 
My  temper)  to  rejoice  at  what  I've  done  : 

{She  offers  to  strike.) 
But  that  thy  powerful  eyes  (as  roaring  seas 
Obey  the  changes  of  the  moon)  have  turn'd 
My  heart,  and  made  it  flow  with  penitence. 

[She  drops  the  sword.) 
Take  up  the  sword  again  or  take  up  me. 
Lady  A.  No,  though  I  wish  thy  death, 
1  will  not  be  thy  executioner. 

{He  takes  up  the  sword.) 
Glos.  (Rises,)  Then  bid  me  kill  myself,  and  I 
will  do  it. 


RICHARD  III.  3S 

Lady  A.  I  have  already. 
Glos.  That  was  in  thy  rage  ; 
Say  it  again,  and  even  with  thy  word, 
This  guilty  hand,  that  robb'd  thee  of  thy  love, 
Shall,  for  thy  love,  revenge  thee  on  thy  lover  ; 
To  both  their  deaths  shalt  thou  be  accessary. 
Tres.  By  heaven,  she  want's  the  heart  to  bid 
him  do't !  {Aside  to  Stan.) 

Stan.  What  think  you  now,  sir? 

{Aside  to  Tres.) 
Tres.  I'm  struck  !  I  scarce  can  credit  what  I 
see.  {Aside  to  Stan.) 

Stan.  Why,  you  see, — a  woman  I 

{Aside  to  Tres.) 
Glos.  What,  not  a  word,   to  pardon   or  con- 
demn me  ? 
But  thou  art  wise, — and  canst  with  silence  kill 

me; 
Yet  even  in  death  my  fleeting  soul  pursues  thee:- 
Dash  not  the  tears  of  penitence  away  ! 

Lady  A.  Would'st  thou  not  blame  me  to  for- 
give thy  crimes  ? 
Glos.  They  are  not  to  be  forgiven ;  no,  not 
even 
Penitence  can  atone  'em  ! — Oh  misery 
Of  thought, — that  strikes  me  with  at  once   re- 
pentance 
And   despair  ! — Though   unpardoned,   yield  mc 
pity! 
Lady  A.  Would  I  knew  thy  heart! 
Glos.  'Tis  figured  in  my  tongue. 
Lady  A.  I  fear  me,  both  are  false. 
Glos.  Then  never  man  was  true  1 


34  RICHARD  III. 

Lady  A.  Put  up  thy  sword. 

Glos.  Say,  then,  my  peace  is  made. 

Lady  Ji.  That  shalt  thou  know  hereafter. 

Glos.  But  shall  I  live  in  hope  ? 

Lady  A.  All  men,  I  hope,  live  so. 

(He  sheaths  his  sword.) 

Glos.  I  swear,  bright  saint,  1  am  not  what  i 
was. 
Those  eyes  have  turn'd  my  stubborn  heart  to 

woman  ; 
Thy  goodness  makes  me  soft  in  penitence, 
And  my  harsh  thoughts  are  turned  to  peace  and 

love. 
Oh  !  if  thy  poor  devoted  servant  might 
But  beg  one  favour  at  thy  gracious  hand, 
Thou  would'st  confirm  his  happiness  for  ever. 

Lady  A.  What  is't  ? 

Glos.  That  it  may  please  thee  leave  these  sad 
designs 
To  him  that  has  most  cause  to  be  a  mourner, 
And  presently  repair  to  Crosby  house ; 
Where, — after  I  have  solemnly  interrM 
At  Chertsey  monastery  this  injur'd  king. 
And  wet  his  grave  vvith  my  repentant  tears, — 
I  will  with  all  expedient  duty  see  you. 
For  divers  unknown  reasons,  1  beseech  you, 
Grant  me  this  favour. 

Lady  A.     I  do,   my  lord, — and  much  it  joys 
me  too. 
To  see  you  are  become  so  penitent ! — 
Tressel,  and  Stanley,  go  along  with  me. 

Qlos.  Bid  me  farewell. 


RICHARD  III.  35 

Lady  A.  'Tis  more  than  you  deserve  : 
But,  since  you  teach  me  how  to  flatter  you^ 
Imagine  I  have  said  farewell,  already. 

[Exeunt  Ladif  A.  Stan,  and  Tres.  R.H. 

Chiard.  Towards  Chertsey,  my  lord  ? 

Gios.  No,  to  White-friars;  there   attend  my 
coming. 

\^Exeunt  Guards,  with  the  hody^  l.h.u.e. 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  wooM  1 
W^as  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won? 
I'll  have  her, — but  I  will  not  keep  her  long." 
What !   1,  that  kill'd  her  husband,  and  his  father, 
To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extremest  hate  ; 
With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
The  bleeding  witness  of  my  hatred  by; 
Having  heav'n,  her  conscience,  and  these  bar? 

against  me, 
And  I  no  friends  to  back  my  suit  withal, 
But  the  plain  devil,  and  dissembling  looks  ! 
And  yet  to  win  her, — all  the  world  to  nothing  1 
Can  she  abase  her  beauteous  eyes  on  me, 
Whose  all,  not  equals  Edward's  moiety  ? 
On  me  that  halt,  and  am  mis-shapen  thus ! 
My  dukedom  to  a  widow-s  chastity, 
I  do  mistake  my  person,  all  this  while  : 
Upon  my  life,  she  finds,   although  I  cannot, 
Myself  to  be  a  marvellous  proper*  man 
I'll  have  my  chambers  lined  with  looking  glass  : 
And  entertain  a  score  or  two  of  tailors^ 
To  study  fashions  to  adorn  by  body  ; 
Since  I  am  crept  in  favour  with  myself, 

*  Proper  in  the  old  language,  was  handsome. 


36  RICHARD  III. 

I  will  maintain  it  with  some  little  cost. 
But,  first,  I'll  turn  St.  Harry  to  his  grave, 
And  then  return  lamenting  to  my  love. — 
Shine  out,  fair  sun,  till  I  salute  my  glass, 
That  I  may  see  my  shadow  as  I  pass. 

[Exit^  L,H. 

SCENE  U.—Baynard's  Castle, 

Enter  Buckingham,  hastily,  l.h.  ;  meeting  Lord 
Stanley,  r.h. 

Buck.  Did  you  see  the  duke  ? 

Stan.  What  duke,  my  lord  ? 

Buck.  His  grace  of  GJoster,  did  you  see  him  ? 

Stan.  Not    lately,   my    lord ; — I  hope    no  ill 

news. 
Buck.  The  worst  that  heart   e'er  bore,    or 
tongue  can  utter. 
Edward  the  king,  his  royal  brother's,  dead  ! 

(^Crosses  to  r.h.) 
Stan.  'Tis  sad  indeed ! — I  wish  by  your  im- 
patience 
To  acquaint  him  though,  you  think  it  so  to  him  : 

{Aside.) 
Did  the  king,  my  lord,  make  any  mention 
Of  a  protector  for  his  crown  and  children  ? 

Buck.  He  did ; — Duke  Richard  has  the  care 

of  both. 
Stan.  That  sad  news  you  are  afraid  to  tell  him 
too.  {^Aside.) 

Buck.  He'll  spare  no  toils,  I'm  sure,  to  fill  his 
place. 


RICHARD  III.  37 

Stan.  Pray  heav'n  he's  not  too  dilig-ent.  (^Asicle.^ 
My  lord, — is  not  that  the  duchess  of  York, 
The  king's  mother  ?  coming,  I  fear,  to  visit  him. 

Buck.  'Tis  she, — Httle  thinking  what  has  be- 
fall'n  us. 

Enter  Duchess  of  York,  r.h. 

Due.  Y.  Good  day,  my  lords  ;  how  takes  the 

king  his  rest? 
Buck.  Alas !  madam,  too  well ! — he  sleeps  for 

ever. 
Due.  Y.  Dead !  good  heav'n,  support  me  I 
Buck.  Madam,  'twas  my  unhappy  lot  to  hear 
His  last  departing  groans,  and  close  his  eyes. 
Due.  Y.  Another  taken   from  me,  too  !  why, 
just  heav'n, 
Am  I  still  left  the  last  in  life  and  woe  1 
First  1  bemoan'd  a  noble  husband's  death, 
Y'et  liv'd  with  looking  on  his  images  : 
But  now  my  last   support  is  gone  : — first   Cla- 
rence, 
Now  Edward,  is  forever  taken  from  me : 
And  I  must  now  of  force  sink  down  with  sorrow. 
Buck.  Your  youngest  son,  the  noble  Richard, 
lives  : 
His  love,  I  know,  will  feel  his  mother's  cares, 
And  brin«-  new  comfort  to  your  latter  days. 
Due.  Y.  'Twere  new  indeed  !  for  yet  of  him 
1  ve  none. 
Unless  a  churlish  disposition  may 
Be  counted,  ii-om  a  child,  a  mother's  comfort. 
Where  h  tho  queen,  my  lord  ? 
4 


.38  RICHARD  III. 

Buck.  I  left  her  with  her  kinsmen,  deep  iir 
sorrow, 
Who  have  with  much  ado  persuaded  her 
To  leave  the  body. — Madam,  she  is  here. 

Enter  Queen,  Oxford,  and  Blunt,  l.h. 

Queeji.  (^Speaking  as  she  enters.)  Why  do  you 
thus  oppose  my  grief?  Unless, 

To  make  me  rave  and  weep  the  faster  ?  Ha ! 

My  mother  too  in  tears !  fresh  sorrow  strikes 

My  heart  at  sight  of  every  friend  that  lov'd 

My  Edward  living ; — Oh  mother,  he's  dead  ! 

Edward,  my  lord,  thy  son,  our  king,  is  dead ! 

Oh  !  that  my  eyes  could  weep  away  my  soul; 

Then  I  might  follow,  worthy  of  his  hearse. 
Stan.  Your  duty,  madam, ^of  a  wife,  is  dead, 

And  now  the  mother's  only  claims  your  care. 

Think  on  the  prince  your  son ; — send  for  him 
strait. 

And  let  his  coronation  clear  your  eyes; 

Bury  your  griefs  in  the  dead  Edward's  grave. 

Revive  your  joys  on  living  Edward's  throne. 
Q^ieen.  Alas!  that  thought  but  adds  to  my  af- 
flictions. 

New  tears  for  Edward  gone,  and  fears  for  Ed-r 
ward  living; 

An  helpless  child  in  his  minority, 

Is  in  the  trust  of  his  stern  uncle  Gloster,. 

A  man  that  frowns  on  me,  and  all  of  mine. 
Buck.  Judge  not  so  hardly,  madam,  of  his  love.-^ 

your  son  will  find  in  him  a  father's  care. 


RICHARD  III.  39 


Enter  Gloster,  m.d. 

Glos.  Why,  ah  !  these  tears  look  well  ;^sor- 
row's  the  mode, 
And  every  one  at  court  must  wear  it  now  : 
With  all  my  heart ;  I'll  not  be  out  of  fashion. 

{Aside.) 
Queen.  My  lord,  just  heaven  knows  1  never 
hated  Gloster  ; 
But  would,  on  any  terms  embrace  his  friendship. 
Buck.  These  words  would  make  him  weep ; 
— I  know  him  your's  ; 
See  vvhere  he  comes  in  sorrow  for  our  loss. 
Glos.  {In  Centre.)  My  lords,  good  morrow, — 
Cousin  of  Buckingham,  {Weeps.) 
I  am  your's. 

Buck.  Good  morning  to  your  grace. 
Glos.  Methinks 
We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot  to  speak. 

Buck.  We  may  remember, — but  our  argument 
Is  now  too  mourntul  to  admit  much  talk. 

Glos.  It  is   indeed.     Peace  be  with  him  that 
made  it  so  ! 
Sister  take  comfort — 'tis  true,  we've  all  cause 
To  mourn  the  dimming  of  our  shming  star ; 
But  sorrow  never  could  revive  the  dead  ; 
And  if  it  could,  hope  would  prevent  our  tears  : 
So,  we  must  weep,  because  we  weep  in  vain. 
Madam,  my  mother! — 1  do  cry  you,  mercy. 
My  grief  was  blind, — I  did  not  see  your  grace. 

{Crosses  to  Duchess.) 
Most  humbly  on  my  knees,  I  crave  your  blessing-. 


40  RICH4RD  III. 

Due,  Y.  (r.h.)  Thou  hast  it,  and  may  thy  chari- 
table 
Heart  and  tongue  love  one  another  !  may  heav'n 
Endow  thy  breast  with  meekness  and  obedience. 
(^Duchess,  ci'osses  behind  to  Qxieen^  l.h.) 
Glos.  Amen  ;  and  make  me  die  a  good  old  man ! 
That's  the  old  but-end  of  a  mother  s  blessing  : 
I  marvel,  that  her  grace  did  leave  it  out. 

(^Aside,") 
Buck.  My  lords,  I  think  'twere  fit  that  now 
Prince  Edward, 
Forthwith  from  Ludlow  should  be  sent  for  home, 
In  order  to  his  coronation. 

Glos.  By  all  means,  my  lords ; — Come,  let's 
to  council,  [Crosses  to  Centre.) 

And  appoint  who  shall  be  the  messengers : 

[Exeunt  Oxford  and  Blunt.,  l.h.d. 
Madam,  and  you,  my  sister,  please  you  go 
To  give  your  sentiments  on  this  occasion. 

Queen.  My  lord  your  wisdom  needs  no  help 
from  me  ; — 
My  glad  consent  yon  have  in  all  that's  just, 
Or  for  the  people's  good,  though  I  suffer  by't. 
Glos.  Please  you  to  retire,  madam,  we  shall 
propose 
What  you'll  not  think  the  people's  wrong,  nor 
your's. 
Queen.  May  heaven  prosper  all  your  good  in- 
tents ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Glos.  and  Buck.,  l.h.d. 
Glos.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart,  for  mine's  the 
crown, 


1 


RICHARD  III.  41 

And  is  not  that  a  good  one  ? — Ha  !  pray'd  she 
not  well  cousin  ? 
Buck.  I  hope  she  prophecy'd — you  now  stand 

fair. 
Glos.  Now,  by  St.  Paul,  I  feel  it  here  ; — me- 
thinks 
The  massy  weight  on't  galls  nny  laden  brow  : 
What  thmk'st  thou,  cousin,  were't  not  an   easy 

matter 
To  get  Lord  Stanley's  hand  to  help  it  on? 
Buck,  My  lord,  I  doubt  that;  for  his  fathers 
sake, 
He  loves  the  prince   too  well ;  he'll  scarce  be 

won 
To  any  thing  against  him. 

Glos.  Poverty,  the  reward  of  honest  fools, 
Overtake  him  for't ; — what  think'st  thou  then  of 
Hastings. 
Buck.  He  shall  be  try'd,  my  lord  ; — Pll  find 
out  Catesby, 
Who  shall  at  subtle  distance  sound  his  thoughts : 
But  we  must  still  suppose   the   worst  may  hap- 
pen : — 
What  if  we  tind  him  cold  in  our  design  ? 

Glos.  Chop  oflf  his   head  : — something  we'll 
soon  determine  ; 
But  haste  and  find  out  Catesby  ; 

(^Buck.  Crosses  to  l.h.) 
That  done,  follow  me  to  the  council-chamber  ; 
We'll  not  be  seen  together  much,  nor  have 
It  known  that  we  confer  in  private  ; — therefore 
Away,  good  cousin. 

Buck.  I  am  gone,  my  lord.  [Exit.  l-h. 

4  * 


42  RICHARD  Hi. 

Glos.  Thus  far  we  run  before  the  wind, 

My  fortune  smiles,  and  gives  me  all  that  I  dare 
ask. 

The  conquer'd  lady  Anne  is  bound  in  vows  ! 

Fast  as  the  priest  can  make  us,  we  are  one. 

The  king,  my  brother,  sleeps  without  his  pillow, 

And  I'm  left  guardian  of  his  infant  heir. 

Let  me  see  : — 

The  prince  will  soon  be  here  ; — let  him  !  the 
crown ! 

Oh  yes  !  he  shall  have  twenty;  globes  and  scep- 
tres too  : 

New  ones  made  to  play  withal, — but  no  coro- 
nation ; 

No,  nor  any  court-flies  about  him, — no  kinsmen. 

Hold  ye  ; — where  shall  he  keep  his  court  ?— 
The  Tower?— 

Aye; — the  Tower.  [Exit^  r.ii 


F,yD    OF   ACl    II 


RICHARD  111.  4:3 

ACT  III. 
SCENE  ]. —Crosby  Palace. 

Prixce    Edward,    Gloster,    Buckingham,    Lor© 
Stanley,  TKESriEL^and  Attendanis^  discovered. 

Glos.  (r.h.  of  Prince  E.)  Now,  mj  royal  cou- 
sin,* welcome  to  London  : 
Welcome  to  all  those  honour'd  dignities, 
Which  by  your  father's  will,  and  by  your  birth, 
You  stand  the  undoubted  heir  possess'd  of: 
And,  if  my  plain  simplicity  of  heart 
May  take  the  liberty  to  shew  itself; 
VouTe  farther  welcome  to  your  uncle's  care 
And  love. — Why  do  you  sigh,  my  lord  ? 
The  weary  way  has  made  you  melancholy. 
Prince  E.  (^Seated  in   the   centre.)  No,   uncle  ; 
but  our  crosses  on  the  way, 
Have  made  it  tedious,  wearisome,  and  heavy ; 
I  want  more  uncles  here  to  welcome  me  ! 

Tres.  (l.h.)  More    uncles  !    what   means  his 
highness  ?  (^Aside  to  Stanley.') 

Stan,   (l.h.)  Why,   sir,  the    careful    duke   of 
Gloster  has 


*  Cousin  was  the  term  used  in  Shakspeaie's  time,  by 
uncles,  to  nephews  and  nieces  ;  grandfathers,  to  grand- 
children ;  &c.  It  seems  to  have  been  used  instead  of  oflv 
kinsmc^7i,  and  kinsivomaa. 


44  RICHARD  III. 

SecurM  his  kinsmen  on  the  way ; — Lord  Rivers, 

Grey, 
Sir  Thomas  Vaughan,  and  others  of  his  friends, 
Are  prisoners  now  in  Porafret  castle : 
On  Avhat  pretence  it  boots  not; — there  they  are. 
Let  the  devil  and  the  duke  alone  to  accuse  'em. 

{Aside  to  Tressd.) 
Glos.  My  lord,  the  mayor  of  London  comes  to 
greet  you. 

Enter  Lord  Mayor,  and  Suite^  l.h.d. 

Lord  M.  Vouchsafe,  most  gracious  sovereign, 
to  accept 
The  general  homage  of  your  loyal  city  : 
We  farther  beg  your  royal  leave  to  speak 
In  deep  condoieme'tt  of  your  father's  loss  ; 
And   as  far  as  our  true  sorrow  will  permit, 
To  'gratulate  your  accession  to  the  throne. 
Prince  E.  I  thank  you,  good  my    lord,   and 
thank  you  ull. 
Alas  !  my  youth  is  yet  unfit  to  govern. 
Therefore  the  sword  of  justice  is  in  abler  hands  i 
[Pointing  to  Gloster.y 
But  be  assured  of  this,  [Rising)  so  much  already 
I  perceive  1   love  you,  that  though  I  know  not 

yet 
To  do  you  offices  of  good,  yet  this  I  know, 
I'll  sooner  die  than  basely  do  you  wrong.    [Sits.) 
Glos.  So  wise  so  young,  they  say,  do  ne'er  live 
long.  [Aside.) 

Prince  E.  My  lords, 
I  thought  my  mother,  and  my  brother  York. 


RICHARD  III.  46 

Would  long-  ere  this  have  met  us  on  the  nay : 
Say,  uncle  Gloster,  if  our  brother  come, 
Where  shall  we  sojourn  till  our  coronation  ? 
Glos.  Where  it  shall  seem  best  to  your  royal 
self. 
May  I  advise  you,  sir.  some  day  or  two 
Your  highness  shall  repose  you  at  the  Tower  ; 
Then,  where  you  please,  and  shall  be  thought 

most  fit 
For  your  best  health  and  recreation. 

Prince  E.  Why  at  the  Tower?  But  be  it   as 

you  please. 
Buck.  (r.h.  of  Glos.)  My  lord, — your  brother's 
grace  of  York. 

Enter  Duke  and  Duchess  o/*  York,  l.h.d. 

Prince  E.  Richard   of  York  1  how   fares  our 
dearest  brother  ? 

(^Rising  and  embracing  him.) 
Duke  Y.    Oh,  my   dear  lord  I     So  1  must  call 

you  now. 
Prince  E.  Ay,  brother,  to  our  grief,  as  it  is 
your's. 
Too  soon  he  died  who  might  have  better  worn 
That  title,  which  in  me  will  lose  its  majesty. 
Glos.  How    fares   our   cousin,   noble   lord  of 

York  ? 
Dake  Y.  {Crosses  to  Glos.)  Thank  you  kindly, 
dear  uncle  : — oh,  my  lord  ! 

{Prince  E.  salutes  the  Duchess.) 
You  said  that  idle  weeds  were  fast  ingrowth; 
The  king,  my  brother,  has  outgrown  me  far. 


46  RICHARD  III. 

Glos.  He  has,  my  lord. 

Duke  Y.   And  therefore,  is  he  idle  ? 

Glos.  Oh,  p-^etty  cousin,  i  must  not  say  so. 

Duke  Y.  Nay,  uncle,  1  don't  Believe  the  say- 

ins:'s  true. 
For,  if  it  v^-^ere,  you'd  be  an  idle  weed. 
Glos.  How  so,  cousin  ? 
Duke  Y.   Because  i  have  heard  folks  say,  you 

j^rew  so  fast, 
Tour  teetli   would  gnaw  a  crust  at  two  hours 

old: 
Now,  'twas  two  years  ere  I  could  get  a  tooth. 
Glos.  Indeed  !  I    find   the   brat  is  taught  this 

lesson. — (Aside.) 
Who  told  thee  this,  my  pretty  merry  cousin  ? 
Duke  Y.  Why.  your  nurse,  uncle 
Ghs.  My  nurse,  child !  she  was  dead  'fore  thou 

wert  born. 
Duke  Y.  If  'twas  not  she,  I  can't  tell  who  told 

me.  (Crosses  to  Duchess.^ 

Glos.  So  subtle,  too! — 'tis  pity  thou  art  short- ^ 

lived.  (Aside,") 

Prince  E.  My  brother,  uncle,  will  be  cross  in 

talk. 
Glos.  Oh,  fear  not,  my  lord  ;  we  shall  never 

quarrel. 
Prince  E.   \  hope  your  grace  knows  how  to 

bear  with  him. 
Duke  Y.  You  mean  to  bear  me, — not  to  bear 

with  me,  (Crosses  to  Gloster.) 

tJncle,  my  brother  mocks  both  you  and  me : 


RICHARD  III.  47. 

Because  that  I  am  little,  like  an  ape,* 
He  thinks  that  you  should  bear  me  on  your  shoul- 
ders. (^Crosses  to  l.h.) 
Prince  E.  Fye,  brother,  I  have  no  such  meaning-. 
Glos.  My  lord,  wilt  please  you  pass  along  ? 
Myself,  and  my  good  cousin  of  Buckingham, 
Will  to  your  mother,  to  intreat  of  her 
To  meet  and  bid  you  welcome  at  the  Tower. 
Duke  Y.  What !  will  you  to  the  Tower,  my 

dear  lord  ? 
Prince  E.  My  lord  protector  will  have  it  so. 
Duke  Y.  1  sha'n't  sleep  in  quiet  at  the  Tower. 
Glos.  I'll  warrant  you ; — King  Henry  lay  there, 
And  he  sleeps  in  quiet.  {Jside.) 

Prince  E.  What  should  you  fear,  brother  ? 
Duke  Y.  My  uncle  Clarence'  ghost,  my  lord  ; 
My  grandmother  told  me  he  was  kill'd  there. 
Prince  E.  I  fear  no  uncles  dead. 
Glos.  Nor  any,  sir,  that  live,  1  hope. 
Prince  E.  I  hope  so  too  ;  but  come,  my  lords, 
Co  the  Tower,  since  it  must  be  so. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Glosler  and  Buckingham^  l.h.) 
Buck.  Think  you,  my  lord,  this  little  prating 
York 
Was  not  instructed  by  his  subtle  mother, 
To  taunt  and  scorn  you  thus  opprobriously  ? 
Glos.  No  doubt,  no  doubt ;  oh,  'tis  a  shrewd 
young  master : 
Stubborn,  bold,  quick,  forward,  and  capable  ! 

*  At  country  shows  it  was  common  to  set  the  mon- 
key on  the  back  of  some  other  animal,  as  a  hear.  The 
duke,  therefore,  in  calling  himself  ape,  calls  his  uucle 
hmr. 


48  RICHARD  III. 

He's  all  the  mothers,  from  the  top  to  toe  ; 
But  let  them  rest ; — now  what  sajs  Catesby  ? 

Buck.  My  lord,  'tis  much  as  I  suspected,  and 
He's  here  himself  to  inform  you. 

Enter  Catesby,  l.h. 

Glos.  So,  Catesby ; — hast  thou  been  tampering  ? 
"What  news  ? 

Cates.  My  lord,   according  to  th'   instruction 
given  me. 
With  words  at  distance  dropt,  I  sounded  Hastings, 
Piercing  how  far  he  did  affect  your  purpose  ; 
To  which  indeed  1  found  him  cold,  unwilling : 
The  sum  is  this ; — he  seem'd  awhile  to  under- 
stand me  not, 
At  length,  from  plainer  speaking,  urg'd  to  answer, 
He  said  in  heat,  rather  than  wrong  the  head 
To  whom  the  crown  was  due,  he'd  lose  his  own. 
Glos.  Indeed  !   his  own  then  answer  for  that 
saying : 
He  shall  be  taken  care  of: — meanwhile,  Catesby, 

Be   thou    near    me. [Catesby    retires,    r.h.) 

Cousin  of  Buckingham, 
Let's  lose  no  time  ; — the  mayor  and  citizens 
Are  now  at  busy  meeting  in  Guildhall. 
Thither  I'd  have  you  haste  immediately, 
And  at  your  meetest  'vantage  of  the  time. 
Improve  those  hints  I  gave  you  late  to  speak  of: 
But  above  all,  infer  the  bastardy 
Of  Edward's  children. 
Nay,  for  a  need,  taint  thus  far  Edward's  self. — * 


RICHARD  III.  40 

Say  thus  : 

When  he  was  born,  ray  sire  had  wars  in  France  ; 
Nor  bears  he  semblance  to  the  duke  of  York. 
Yet  touch  this  sparingly,  as  'twere  far  off, 
Because,  my  lord,  you  know,  my  mother  lives. 

Buck.  Doubt  not,  my  lord,  TU  play  the  orator, 
As  if  myself  might  wear  the  golden  fee 
For  which  I  plead. 

Glos.  If  you  thrive  well,  bring  'em  to  see  me 
here, 
Where  you  shall  find  me  seriously  employ'd, 
W^ith  the  most  learned  fathers  of  the  church. 

Buck.  I  fly,  my  lord,  to  serve  you. 

(^Crosses  to  l.h.) 

Glos.  To  serve  thyself,  my  cousin  ; 
For  look,  when  I  am  kmg,  claim  thou  of  me 
The  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  all  those  moveables 
Whereof  the  king  my  brother  stood  possessed. 

Buck.  1  shall  remember  that  your  grace  was 
bountiful. 

Glos.  Cousin,  I  have  said  it. 

Buck.  I  am  gone,  my  lord.  [Exit,,  l.h. 

Glos.  So,  I've  secured  my  cousin  here.    These 
moveables 
Will  never  let  his  brains  rest,  till  I'm  king.  {Aside.) 
Catesby,  go  you  with  speed  to  doctor  Shaw, 
And  thence  to  friar  Beuker  ; — bid  'em  both 
Attend  me  here,  within  an  hour  at  farthest : 
Meanwhile  my  private  orders  shall  be  given 

[Exit  Catesby.^  r.h. 
To  lock  out  all  admittance  to  the  prmces. 
Now,  by  St.  Paul,  the  work  goes  bravely  on  ! 
How  many  frightful  stops  would  conscience  make 
5 


50  RICHARD  III. 

In  some  soft  heads,  to  undertake  like  me  ? 

Come,  this  conscience  is  a  convenient  scare- 
crow ; 

It  guards  the  fruit  which  priests  and  wise  men 
taste, 

Who  never  set  it  up  to  fright  themselves ; 

They  know  'tis  rags,  and  gather  in  the  face  on't ; 

While  half-starvM  shallow  daws  thro'  fear  are 
honest. 

Why  were  laws  made,  but  that  we're  rogues  by 
nature  ? 

Conscience  !  'tis  our  ^coin,  we  live  by  parting 
with  it ; 

And  he  thrives  best  that  has  the  most  to  spare. 

The  protesting  lover  buys  hope  with  it ; 

And  the  deluded  virgin  short-liv'd  pleasure  ; 

Old  grey-beards  cram  their  avarice  with  it ; 

Your  lank-javv'd  hungry  judge  will  dine  upon't, 

And  hang  tlie  guiltless,  rather  than  eat  his  muttoa 
cold  : 

The  crown'd  head  quits  it  for  despotic  sway, 

The  stubborn  people  for  unavv'd  rebellion. 

There's  not  a  slave  but  has  his  share  of  villain  j 

Why  then  shall  after  ages  think  my  deeds 

Inhuman  ?  since  my  worst  are  but  ambition. 

Ev'n  all  mankind  to  some  lov'd  ills  incline  : 

Great  men  choose  greater  sins,  ambition's  mine, 

[Exit^  R.H. 

SCENE  II. — Another  Room  in  Crosby  Palace. 
.  Lady  Anne,  discovered  sitting  on  a  couch. 
Lady  A.  When,  when  shall  1  have  rest !  Was 


RICHARD  III.  51 

To  be  the  scourge  of  our  offences  here  ? 

Oh  !  no  ; — 'twas  meant  a  blessing  to  the  virtuous  ; 

It  once  was  so  to  me,  though  now  my  curse. 

But  see, 

He  comes,  the  rude  disturber  of  my  pillow. 

Enter  Gloster,  l.h.d. 

Glos.  Ha  !   still  in  tears  !  let  them  flow  on : 

they're  signs 
Of  a  substantial  grief: — why  don't  she  die  ? 
She  must,  my  interest  will  not  let  her  live  j 
The  fair  Elizabeth  hath  caught  my  eye  ; 
My  heart's  vacant,  and  she  shall  till  her  place. 
They  say  that  women  have  but  tender  hearts  : 
'Tis  a  mistake,  I  doubt ! — I've  found  'em  tough  ; 
They'll  bend,  indeed, — but  he  must  strain  that 

cracks  'em. 
All  I  can  hope's  to  throw  her  into  sickness, 
That  I  may  send  her  a  physician''s  help.  (^Aside.) 
So,  madam,  what !  you  still  take  care,  I  see, 
To  let  the  world  believe  I  love  you  not. 
This  outward  mourning  now  has  malice  in't, 
So  have  these  sullen  disobedient  tears  ; 
I'd  have  you  tell  the  world  I  doat  upon  you. 
Lady  A.  I   wish  1  could  ; — but  'twill  not  be 

beUev'd. 
Have  I  deserv'd  this  usage  ? 

Glos.  You  have  ; — you  do  not  please  me,  as 

at  first. 
Lady  A.  What   have    I  done  ?    What   horrid 

crime  committed  ? 


^2  RICHARD  III. 

Glos.  To  me,  the  worst  of  crimes  ;  outliv'd  my 

liking. 
Lady  A,  If  that  be  criminal, — just  heav'a  be 
kind, 
And  take  me  while  my  penitence  is  warm  ; 
Oh,  sir,  forgive  and  kill  me, 

Glos.  Umph  !  the  meddhng  world  will  call  that 
murder. 
And  1  would  have  them  think  me  pitiful : 
Now,  wert  thou  not  afraid  of  self-destruction, 
Thou  hast  a  fair  excuse  for't. 

Lady  A.  How  fain  would  I  be  friends  with  death  ! 
— Oh  name  it. 

Glos.  Thy  husband's  hate  :  nor  do  I  hate  thee 
only 
From  the  dulfd  edge  of  sated  appetite, 
But  from  the  eager  love  I  bear  another. 
Some  call  me  hypocrite,  what  think'st  thou,  now  ? 
Do  1  dissemble  ? 

Lady  A.  Thy  vows  of  love  to  me  were  all 

d'-ssembled. 
Glos.  Not  one  ; — for  when  I  told  thee  so,  I 
loved  : 
Thou  art  the  only  soul  I  never  vet  deceiv'd ; 
And  'tis  my  honesty  that  tells  thee  now, 
With  all  my  heart  I  hate  thee. 
If  this  have  no  effect,  she  is  immortal.     {Aside.) 
Lady  A.   Forgive  me,  heav'n,  that  I  forgave 
this  man. 
Oh  may  my  story,  told  in  after  ages. 
Give  warning  to  our  easy  sex's  ears  ; 
May  it  unveil  the  hearts  of  men,  and  strike 
Them  deaf  to  their  dissimulated  love  ! 


RICHARD  III.  5B 

Enter  Catesby,  l.h.d. 

Glos.  Now,  Catesb}' — 

Cates.    My   lord,    his   grace    of  Buckingham 

attends  your  highness'  pleasure. 
Glos.  Wait  on  him  ; — I'll  expect  him  here. 

[Exit  Catesby^  l.h.d. 
Your  absence,  madam,  will  be  necessary. 

Lady  A.  Would  my  death  were  so  !  \Exit^  r.h. 
Glos.  It  may  be,  shortly. 

Enter  Catesby  and  Buckingham,  l.h.d. 

Now  cousin,  what  say  the  citizens  ? 

[Exit  Catesby.,  r.h.d. 
Buck.  Now  by  our  hopes,  my  lord,  they  are 
senseless  stones : 
Their  hesitating  fear  has  struck  'em  dumb. 
Glos,    i  ouch'd  you  the  bastardy  ot  Edward's 

children  ? 
Buck.  I  did  ;  with  his  contract  to  lady  Lucy  ;* 
Nay,  his  own  bastardy,  and  tyranny  for  trifles  ; 

^  The  king  haril  been  familiar  with  this  lady  before  his 
marriage  ;  to  obstruct  which,  his  mother  alledged  a  pre- 
contract between  them.  "  Whereupon,"  says  the  historian, 
"dame  Elizabeth  Lucye  was  sente  for,  and  albeit  she  was 
by  the  kyng  hys  mother,  and  many  other,  put  in  good 
comfort  to  affirme  that  she  was  assured  to  the  kinge,  yet 
when  she  was  solemnly  sworne  to  say  ye  truth,  she  con- 
fessed she  was  never  ensured.  Howbeit,  she  sayd  his 
grace  spake  suche  loving  wordes  to  her,  that  she  verily 
hoped  that  he  would  have  married  her  ;  and  that  yf  such 
kind  wordes  bad  not  bene  ;  she  woulde  never  have  showed 
such  kindnesse  to  him  to  lette  hym  so  kyndely  gette  her 
wyth  chylde.  Hall,  Edward  v.  fo.  19." 

5* 


54  RICHARD  III. 

Laid  open  all  your  victories  in  Scotland, 
Your  discipline  in  war,  wisdom  in  peace, 
Your  bounty,  justice,  fair  humility  ; 
Indeed,  left  nothing-  that  mig-ht  gild  our  cause 
Untouched,  or  slightly  handled,  in  my  talk  : 
And,  when  my  oration  drew  towards  an  end, 
I  urged  of  them,  that  lov'd  their  country's  good, 
To  do  you  right,  and  cry.  Long  live  King  Richard. 

Glos.  And  did  they  so  ? 

Buck.  Not  one,  by  heav'n  ; — but  each  like 
statues  fix'd. 
Speechless  and  pale,  star'd  in  his  fellow's  face  : 
Which  when  I  saw,  I  reprehended  them  ; 
And  ask'd  the   mayor,  what  meant  this  wilful 

silence  : 
His  answer  was, — the  people  were  not  us'd 
To  be  spoken  to,  but  by  the  Recorder : 
Who  then  took  on  him  to  repeat  my  words  ; 
Thus  saith  the  duke^  thus  hath  the  duke  inferred  ; 
But  nothing  nrg^d  in  warrant  from  himself. 
When  he  had  done,  some  followers  of  my  own. 
At  th'  lower  end  o'th'hall,  hurl'd  up  their  caps, 
And  some  ten  voices  cry'd,  God  save  King  Richard! 
At  which  I  took  the  'vantage  of  those  few. 
And  cry'd,  Thanks,  gentle  citizens,  and  friends.. 
This  general  applause,  and  cheerful  shout, 
Argues  your  'noisdom,  and  your  love  to  Richard  ; 
And  even  here  broke  off,  and  came  away. 

Glos.  Oh  tongueless  blocks  !  would  they  not 
speak  ? 
Will  not  the  niayor  then,  and  his  brethren  come  ? 

Buck.  The  mayor  is  here  at  hand; — feign  you 
some^  fear : 


RICHARD  I  IF.  55 

And  be  not  spoken  with,  but  by  mighty  suit. 
A  prayer-book  in  your  hand,  my  lord,  were  welL 
Standing  between  two  churchmen  of  repute  : 
For  on  that  ground  I'll  make  a  holy  descant ; 
Yet  be  not  easily  won  to  our  requests  : 
Seem  like  the  virgin,  fearful  of  your  wishes. 

Glos.  My  other  self! — my  counsel's  consistory  ! 
My  oracle  !  my  prophet !  my  dear  cousin  ! 
I,  as  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 

Buck.  Hark  !  the  lord  mayor's  at  hand  : — away, 
my  lord  ; 
No  doubt  but  yet  we  reach  our  point  propos'd. 

Glos.  We  cannot  fail,  my  lord,  while  you  are 
pilot  ! 
A  little  flattery  sometimes  does  well.       (Aside.) 

[Exit,  R.H.D. 

Enter  Lord  Mayor  and  Suite,  l.h. 

Buck.  Welcome,  my  lord:  I  dance  attendance 
here  ; 
I  am  afraid,  the  duke  will  not  be  spoke  withal. 

Enter  Catesby,   r.h.d. 

Now,  Catesby  !  what  says  your  lord  to  my  re- 
quest ? 
Gates.  My  lord,  he   humbly  does  intreat  your 
grace 

To  visit  him  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day  : 

He's  now  retir'd  with  two  right  reverend  fathers, 

Divinely  bent  to  meditation  ; 

And  in  no  worldly  suit  would  he  be  mov'd, 


56  RICHARD  III. 

To  interrupt  his  holy  exercise. 

Buck.  Return  good  Catesby,   to  the  gracious 
duke ; 
Tell  him  myself,  the  mayor,  and  citizens, 
In  deep  designs,  in  matters  of  great  moment, 
No  less  importing  than  our  general  good. 
Are  come  to   have   some   conference  with  his 
grace. 
Gates.  My  lord,  I'll  instantly  inform  his  high- 
ness. [Exit.  R.H.D. 

Buck.  Ah,  my  lord  1  this  prince  is  not  an  Ed- 
ward ; 
He  is  not  lolling  on  a  lewd  love-bed, 
But  on  his  knees  at  meditation  ; 
Not  dallying  with  a  brace  of  courtezans, 
Bnt  with  too  deep  divines  in  sacred  praying : 
Happy  were  England,  would  this  virtuous  prince 
Take  on  himself  the  toil  of  sovereignty  ! 

Lord  M.  Happy  indeed,  my  lord  ! 
He  will  not  sure,  refuse  our  proffered  love. 
Buck.  Alas,  my  lord  !  you  know  him  not :  his 
mind\s 
Above  this  world  ! — he's  for  a  crown  immortal. 
Look  there,  his  door  opens  ;  now  where's  our 
hope  ? 
Lord  M.  See  where  his  grace  stands,  'tween 
two  clergymen  !  {Looking  off^.u.) 

Buck.  Ay,  'tis  there  he's  caught ; — there's  his 

ambition. 
Lord  M.  How  low  he  bows  to  thank  'em  for 
their  care  ! 
And  see  !  a  prayer-book  in  his  hand  ! 

Buck.  Would  he  were  king,  we'd  give  him 
leave  to  pray : 


RICHARD  III.  57 

Methinks  I  wish  it  for  the  love  he  bears  the  city. 
How  have  I  heard  him  vow,  he  thought  it  hard 
The  mayor  should  lose  his  title  with  his  office  ! 
Well,  who  knows?  He  may  be  won. 

Lord  M.  Ah,  my  lord  ! 

Buck    See,  he  comes  forth  ; — my  friends,  be 
resolute  ; 
I  know  he's  cautious  to  a  fault :  but  do  not 
Leave  him,  till  our  honest  suit  be  granted. 

Enter  Gloster,  with  a  book^  and  Catesby,  r.h.d. 

Glos.  Cousin  of  Buckingham, 
I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me, 
Who,  earnest  in  my  zealous  meditation, 
So  long  deferred  the  service  of  my  friends. 
Now  do  I  fear  I've  done  some  strange  offence, 
That  looks  disgracious  in  the  city's  eye.     If  so, 
'Tis  just  you  should  reprove  my  ignorance. 

Buck.  You  have,  my  lord  ;  we  wish  your  grace. 
On  our  intreaties,  would  amend  your  fault. 
Glos.  Else  wherefore  breathe  1  in  a  christian 

land? 
Buck.  Know  then,  it  is  your  fault  that  you  re- 
sign 
The  scepterVl  office  of  your  ancestors. 
Fair  England's  throne,  your  own  due   right  oi' 

birth. 
To  the  corruption  of  a  blemish'd  stock  ; 
In  this  just  cause,  I  come,  to  move  your  highness, 
That  on  s^our  gracious  self  you'd  take  the  charge. 
And  kingly  government  of  this  your  land  ; 
Not  as  protector,  steward,  substitute. 


58  RICHARD  III. 

Or  lowly  factor  for  another's  gain  ; 

But  as  successively,  from  blood  io  blood, 

Your  own,  by  right  of  birth,  and  lineal  glory. 

Glos.  I  cannot  tell,  if  to  depart  in  silence, 
Or  bitterly  to  speak  in  yeur  reproof, 
Fits  best  with  my  degree,  or  your  condition ; 
Therefore, — to  speak  in  just  refusal  of  your  suit. 
And  then  in  speaking  not  to  check  my  friends. 
Definitively,  thus  I  answer  you  : 
Your  love  deserves  my  thanks  ;  but  my  desert, 
Unmeritable,  shuns  your  fond  request ; 
For,  heav'n  be  thank'd,  there  is  no  need  of  me  : 
The  royal  stock  has  left  us  royal  fruit, 
Which  mellow'd  by  the  stealing  hours  of  time, 
Will  well  become  the  seat  of  majesty, 
And  make  us,  no  doubt,  happy  by  his  reign. 
On  him  1  lay  what  you  would  lay  on  me, 
The  right  and  fortune  of  his  happier  stars ; 
W^hich,  heav'n  forbid,  my   thoughts  should  rob 
him  of! 

Lord  M.  {Kneels  with  suite.)  Upon  our  knees, 

my  lord,  we  beg  your  grace 

To  wear  this  precious  robe  of  dignity, 

Which  on  a  child  must  sit  too   loose  and  heavy ; 

*Tis  your's,  befitting  both  your  wisdom  and  your 

birth  {They  rise.) 

Gates.  My  lord,  this  coldness  is  unkind. 
Nor  suits  it  with  such  ardent  loyalty. 

Buck.  Oh  make  'em  happy, — grant  their  law- 
ful suit. 

Glos.  Alas,  why  would  you  heap  this  care  on 
me? 
I  am  unfit  for  state  and  majesty. 


RICHARD  III.  69 

1  thank  you  for  your  loves,  but  must  declare, 

(I  do  beseech  you  take  it  not  amiss,) 

I  will  not,  dare  not.  must  not,  yield  to  you. 

Buck.  If  you  refuse  us,  throug-h  a  soft  remorse, 
Loth  to  depose  the  child  yonr  brother's  son, 
(As  well  we  know  your  tenderness  of  heart,) 
Yet  know,  though  you  deny  us  to  the  last, 
Your  brother's  son  shall  never  reign  our  king. 
But  we  will  plant  some  other  on  the  throne, 
To  the  disgrace  and  downfall  of  your  house  : 
And  thus  resolv'd  1  bid  you,  sir,  farewell. 

{Crosses  to  l.h.) 
My  lord  and  gentlemen,  I  beg  your  pardon 
For  this  vain  trouble ; — my  intent  was  good  ; 
I  would  have  serv'd  my  country  and  my  king : 
But  'twill  not  be.     Farewell,  till  next  we  meet. 

Lord  M.  Be  not  too  rash,  my   lord  :  his  grace 
relents. 

Buck.  Away,  you  but  deceive  yourselves. 

[Exit,  L.H.D. 

Cates.  Sweet  prince,  accept  their  suit. 
Lord  M.  If  you  deny  us,  all  the  land  will  rue  it. 
Glos.    Call  him  again      [Catesby  crosses    and 
Exit,  L.H.D.]   Yon  will  enforce  me  to 
A  world  of  cares  :  I  am  not  made  of  stone, 
But  penetrable  to  your  kind  intreaties, — 
Though,  heaven  knows,  against  my  own  inclin- 
ing. 

Re-enter  Buckingham  and  Catesby,  l.h.d.   (^Buck^ 
ingham  crosses  to  Gloster.) 

Cousin  of  Buckingham, — and  sage,  grave  men, — 


60  RICHARD  III. 

Since  you  will  buckle  fortune  on  my  back, 
To  bear  her  burden  whether  I  will  or  no, 
I  must  have  patience  to  endure  the  load  ; 
But  if  black  scandal,  or  foul-fac'd  reproach, 
Attend  the  sequel  of  your  imposition. 
Your  mere  enforcement  shall  acquittance  me  , 
For  heaven  knows,  as  you  may  partly  see. 
How  far  I  am  from  the  desire  of  this. 

Lord  M.  Heaven  guard  your  grace,  we  see  it 

and  will  say  it ! 
Glos.  You  will  but  say  the  truth,  my  lord. 
Buck.  My  heart's  so  full,  it  scarce   has  vent 
for  words  : 
BIy  knee  will  better  speak  my  duty  now. 

{All  kneel) 
Long  live  our  sovereign,  Richard,  king  of  Eng- 
land ! 
Glos.  Indeed,  your  words  have  touch'd    me 
nearly,  cousin : 
Pray  rise.  {All  rise.)  I  wish  you  could  recall  'em. 
Buck.  It  would  be  treason  now,  my  lord  :  to- 
morrow, 
If  it  so  please  your  majesty,  from  council, 
Orders  shall  be  given  for  your  coronation. 
Glos.  E'en  when  you  please,  for  you  will  have 

it  so. 
Buck.  To-morrow,  then,  we  will  attend  your 
majesty  ; — 
And  now  we  take  our  leaves  with  joy. 

{Crosses  to  l.h.) 
Glos.  Cousin,  adieu  ; — my  loving  friends,  fare- 
well : 
I  must  unto  my  holy  work  again. 

[Exetmt,  all  but  Glosier.^  l.h.d. 


RICHARD  III.  61 

Why,  now  my  golden  dream  is  out ! 
Ambition,  like  an  early  friend,  throws  back 
My  curtains  with  an  eager  hand,  o'erjoy'd 
To  tell  me  what  1  dreamt  is  true.     A  crown  ! 
Thou  bright  reward  of  ever-daring  minds, 
Oh  how  thy  awful  glory  wraps  my  soul ! 
Nor  can  the  means  that  got  thee  dim  thy  lustre  : 
For  not  men's  love,  fear  pays  thee  adoration. 
And  fame  not  more  survives  from  good  than  evil 

deeds : 
Th'  aspiring  youth  *that  fir'd  the  Ephesian  dome, 
Outlives  in  fame  the  pious  fool  that  raised  it. 
Conscience,  lie  still ;  more   lives  must  yet  be 

drain'd ; 
Crowns    got  with  blood,   must    be  with  blood 

maintain'd.  [Exit^  r.h.d. 

END    OF     ACT    III. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  the  Tower. 

Enter    Lady    Anne,  in  tears,   Duke    of    York, 

Queen,  Prince    Edward,    and   Duchess   of 

York,  r.h. 

Prince  E.  Pray,  madam,  do  not  leave  me  yet, 
For  I  have  many  more  complaints  to  tell  you. 

*  Erostratus ;  or,  Eratostratus :  who  set  fire  to  the  tem- 
ple of  Diana  at  Ephesus,  that  his  name  by  such  an  uncom- 
mon action  might  descend  to  posterity. 
6 


62  RICHARD  III. 

Queen.  And  I  unable  to  redress  the  least ; 
What  would'st  thou  say,  my  child  ? 

Prince  E.  Oh,  mother,  since  I  have  lain  i'the 
Tower. 
My  rest  has  still  been  broke  with  frightful  dreams, 
Or  shocking  news  has  wak'd  me  into  tears : 
I'm  scarce  allow'd  a  friend  to  visit  me  ; 
All  my  old  honest  servants  are  turn'd  off, 
And  in  their  room  are  strange  ill-natur'd  fellows, 
Who  look  so  bold,  as  they  were  all  my  masters ; 
And  I'm  afraid  they'll  shortly  take  you  from  me. 

Due.  Y.  Oh  mournful  hearing ! 

Lady  J.  Oh  unhappy  prince  ! 

Duke.  Y.  Dear  brother,  why  do  you  weep  so  ? 
You  make  me  cry  too. 

Qween.  Alas,  poor  innocence  !  [cle  aims ; 

Prince  E.  Would  1  but  knew  at  what  my  un- 
If  'twere  my  crown,  I'd  freely  give  it  him, 
So  he'd  but  let  me  joy  my  life  in  quiet. 

Duke  Y.  Why,  will  my  uncle  kill  us,  brother  ? 

Prince  E.  I  hope  he  won't ;  we  never  injur'd 
him. 

Queen,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  'em  thus. 

(  Weeping.) 

Enter  Lord  Stanley,  l.h.d. 

Stan.  Madam,  I  hope  your  majesty  will  pardon 
What  I  am  griev'd  to  tell ; — unwelcome  news. 

Queen.  Ah  me,   more   sorrow,  yet,   my  lord  ! 
We've  long 
Despaired  of  happy  tidings;  pray  whatis't? 


RICHARD  III.  63 

Stan.  On  Tuesday  last,  your  noble  kinsmen, 
Rivers, 
Grey,  and  sir  Thomas  Vaughan,  at  Pomfret, 
Were  executed  on  a  public  scaffold. 

Due.  Y.  Oh  dismal  tidings  !  [is  next. 

Prince  E.  Oh   poor  uncles  !  I  doubt  my  turn 

Lady  A.  Nor  mine,  1  fear,  far  off. 

Q^ueen.  Why  then,   let's   welcome   blood  and 
massacre ; 
Yield  all  our  throats  to  the  fell  tiger's  rage, 
And  die  lamenting  one  another's  wrong. 
Oh  !  I  foresaw  this  ruin  of  our  house.    ( Weeps.) 

Enter  Catesby,  l.h.d. 

Cates.  Madam,  the  king 
Has  sent  me  to  inform  your  majesty. 
That  you  prepare  (as  is  advis'd  from  council,) 
To-morrow  for  your  royal  coronation. 

Queen.  What  do  I  hear?  Support  me,  heaven  ! 

Lady  A.  Despightful  tidings  ! — oh,  unpleasing 
news  ! 
Alas,  I  heard  of  this  before,  but  could  not. 
For  my  soul,  find  heart  to  tell  you  of  it.     fjesty, 

Cates.  The   king  does  farther  wish  your  ma- 
Would  less  employ  your  visits  at  the  Tower; 
He  gives  me  leave  t'attend  you  to  the  court, 
And  is  impatient,  madam,  till  he  sees  you. 

Lady  A.  Farewell  to  all.     And  thou,  poor  in- 
jured queen. 
Forgive  the  unfriendly  duty  I  must  pay. 

Queen.  Alas,  kind  soul,  1   envy  not  thy  glory  ; 
Nor  think  I'm  pleas'd  thou'rt  partner  in  our  sor- 

Cates.  Madam,  [row. 


64  RICHARD  III. 

Lady  A.  I  come.  [glory. 

Queen.  Farewell,   thou  woeful   welcomer   of 

Gates.  Shall  I  attend  your  majesty  ? 

Lady   A.    Attend    me!    Whither? — To    be 
crown'd  ? 
Let  me  with  deadly  venom  be  anointed, 
And    die,  ere   man    can  say, — "  Long  live   the 
Queen  !"  [Exit^  'with  Catesby^  l.h. 

Stan.  Take  comfort,  madam. 

Queen.  Alas  !  where  is  it  to  be  found  ? 
Death  and  destruction  follow  us  so  close, 
They  shortly  must  overtake  us. 

Stan.  In  Bretany, 
My  son-in-law,  the  earl  of  Richmond,  still 
Resides,  who  with  a  jealous  eye  observes 
The  lawless  actions  of  aspiring  Gloster : 
To  him  would  I  advise  you,  madam,  fly 
Forthwith,  for  aid,  protection,  and  redress  : 
He  will,  Pm  sure,  with  open  arms  receive  you. 

Due.  Y.  Delay  not,  madam; 
For  'tis  the  only  hope  that  heaven  has  left  us. 

Queen.  Do   with   me   what  you  please ; — for 
Must  surely  better  our  condition,      [any  change 

Sta7i.  1  farther  would  advise  you,  madam,  this 
To  remove  the  princes  to  some  [instant 

Remote  abode,  where  you  yourself  are  mistress. 

Prince  E.  Dear  madam,  take  me  hence  :  for 
Enjoy  a  moment's  quiet  here.  [I  shall  ne'er 

Duke  Y.  Nor  I ;  pray,  mother,  let  me  go  too. 

Queen.  Come    then,    my  pretty  young    ones, 
let's  away ; 
For  here  you  lie  within  the  falcon's  reach, 
Who  watches  but  th'  unguarded   hour  to  seize 
you.  {Going  with  her  children,  l.h.) 


RICHARD  m,  65 

Enter  Lieutenant,  l.h.        ^, 

Lieut.  I  beg  your  raajesty  will  pardon  me  ; 
!But  the  young-  princes  must,  on  no  account, 
Have  egress  from  the  Tower : 
Nor  must  (without  the   king's  especial  license,) 
Of  what  degree  soever,  any  person 
Have  admittance  to  'em  : — all  must  retire. 

Queen.   I  am  their  mother,  sir^  who  else  com- 
man<3s  'em  ? 
If  I  pass  freely,  they  shall  follow  me. 
Tor  you,  I'll  take  the  peril  of  your  fault  upon 
myself.  [you ; 

Lie'dt.   My  inclination,  madam,   would  oblige 
But  I  am  bound  by  oath,  and  must  obey  : 
Nor,  madam,  can  I  now  with  safety  answer 
For  this  continued  visit. 

(^Gives  the  warrant  to  Stanley.') 
Please  you  my  Lord,  to  read  these  orders. 
(^ueen.  Oh,  heavenly  powers  !  shall  1  not  stay 

with  them? 
Lieut.  Such  are  the  king's  commands,  madam. 
Queen.  My  lord  ?  {To  Stanley.) 

Stan.  'Tis  too  true, — and  it  were  vain  t'op- 
pose  'em. 
[Stanley  returns  the  warrant.^  and  Exit,  l  h. 
Queen.  Support  me,  heaven  ! 
For  life   can  never  bear  the  pangs  of  such  a 

parting. 
Oh,  my  poor  children  I  Oh,  distracting  thought  I 
I  dare  not  bid  'em,  as  I  should,  farewell ; 
And  then  to  part  in  silence  stabs  my  soul ! 
Prince  E.  What,  must  you  leave  us,  mother  ? 
6  * 


66  RICHARD  HI. 

Queen.  What  shall  I  say  ?  {.iside.) 
But  for  a  time,  my  loves : — we  shall  meet  again  ; 
At  least  in  heaven.  {Aside.) 

Duke  Y.  Won't  you  take  me  with  you,   mo- 
ther ? 
I  shall  be  so  'fraid  to  stay,  when  you  are  gone. 
Queen.  I  cannot  speak  to  'em,  and  yet  we  must 
Be  parted. 

{Duchess  of  York  crosses  behind  to  l.h.) 

Then  let  these  kisses  say  farewell.  [last ! 

Why,  oh  why,  just  heaven,  must  these  be  our 

Due.   Y.  Give  not  your  grief  such  way  ; — be 

sudden  when  you  part. 
Queen.  1  will : — since  it  must  be  : — to  heaven 
I  leave  'em! 
(Kneels. — The  Lieut,  takes  charge  of  the  Princes.) 
Hear  me,  ye  guardian  powers  of  innocence  ; 
Awake  or  sleeping,  oh  protect  'em  still ! 
Still  may  their  helpless  youth  attract  men's  pity, 
That  when  the  arm  of  cruelty  is  raised. 
Their  looks  may  drop  the  lifted  dagger  down 
From  the  stern  murderer's  relenting  hand. 
And  throvv  him  on  his  knees  in  penitence  !  {Rises.) 
Both  Princes.     Oh  mother,  mother! 
Queen.  Oh  my  poor  children  ! — 
[Exeunt  Queen  and  Duchess  of  York,  l.h.  Lieu- 
tenant with  the    Princes.,  r.h. 

SCENE  11— The  Presence  Chamber. 

Discovering  King  Richard,  seated  ;  Buckingham, 
Catesby,  Ratcliff,  4'C. 
K.  Rich.  Stand  all  apart. — [Exeunt  all  the  Court., 
but  Buckingham,  Ratcliff,  and  Catesby,  r.h.] 


RICHARD  III.  67 

Cousin  of  Buckingham, — 

Buck.  My  gracious  sovereign. 

K.  Rich.  Give  me  thy  hand. 
At  length  by  thy  advice  and  thy  assistance, 
Is  Gloster  seated  on  the  English  throne. 
But  say,  my  cousin. — 

What !  shall  we  wear  these  glories  for  a  day  ? 
Or  shall  they  last,  and  we  rejoice  in  them ! 

Buck.  I  hope  for  ages  sir ; — long  may  they 
grace  you  !  [the  touchstone, 

K.   Rich.  Oh,   Buckingham  !  now   do    I    play 
To  try  if  thou  be  current  friend  indeed : 
Young    Edward    lives; — so    does    his    brother 
Now  think,  what  I  would  speak,  [York  : — 

Buck.  Say  on,  my  gracious  lord.  [spiders 

K.  Rich.  I  tell  thee  coz,  I've  lately  had  two 
Crawling  upon  my  startled  hopes  ; —  [from  me, 
Now,  though  thy  friendly  hand  has  brush'd  'em 
Yet  still  they  crawl  offensive  to  my  eyes  ; 
1  would  have  some  kind  friend  to  tread  upon  em  : 
I  would  be  king,  my  cousin. 

Buck.  Why  so  I  think  you  are,  my  royal  lord. 

K.   Rich.    Ha!  am  I  king?  'Tis  so  ;— but,— 

Buck.  Most  true,  my  lord.  [Edward  lives. 

K.  Rich.  Cousin,  thou  wert  not  wont  to  be  so 
dull. 
Shall  1  be  plain  ; — I  wish  the  bastards  dead  ; 
And  I  would  have  it  suddenly  perform'd ; 
Now,  cousin,   canst  thou  answer  me  ?        [sure. 

Buck.  None  dare  dispute  your  highness'  plea- 

K.    Rich.    Indeed !    methinks     thy    kindness 
freezes,  cousin. 
Thou  dost  refuse  me,  then  ! — they  shall  not  die. 


68  RICHARD  III. 

Buck.  My  lord,  since,  'tis  an  action  cannot  be 
Recalled,  allow  me  but  some  pause  to  think ; 
I'll  instantly  resolve  your  highness.     [Exit^  l.h. 

Gates.  The  king  seems  angry,  see,  he  gnaws 
his  lip.* 

K.    Rich.  I'll  henceforth   deal   with  shorter- 
sighted  fools  ; 
None  are  for  me,  that  look  into  my  deeds 
With  thinking  eyes  ; — 

High-reaching  Buckingham  grows  circumspect : 
The  best  on't  is,  it  may  be  done  without  him  ; 
Though  not  so  well  perhaps  ; — had  he  consented. 
Why  then  the  murder  had  been  his,  not  mine, 
We'll  make  shift  as  'tis. — Come  hither,  Catesby : 
Where's  that  same  Tirrel  whom  thou  told's  me 
of?  [order'd  ? 

Hast    thou    given  him   those   sums    of  gold  I 

Gates.  I  have,  my  liege. 

K.  Rich.  Where  is  he? 

Gates.  He  waits  your  highness'  pleasure. 

K.  Rich.  Give   him  this  ring,  and  say  myself 
Will  bring  him  farther  orders  instantly. 

[Exit  Gatesby.,  r.h.d. 
The  deep-revolving  duke  of  Buckingham 
No  more  shall  be  the  neighbour  to  my  counsels : 
Has  he  so  long  held  out  with  me  untir'd. 
And  stops  he  now  for  breath  ? — Well,  be  it  so. — 

Enter  Lord  Stanley,  l.h. 

How  now,  lord  Stanley ; — what's  the  news  ? 

*  Several  of  our  ancient  historians  observe,  that  thi? 
was  the  accustomed  action  of  Richard,  whether  he  wa; 
pensive  or  angry. 


RICHARD  III.  69 

Stan.  I   hear,  my  liege,  the   lord  marquis  of 
Is  fled  to  Richmond,  now  in  Bretany.        [Dorset 
K.  Rich.  Why  let  him  go,  my  lord  :  he   may 
be  spard.  {Crosses  to  l.h.) 

{Stanley  retires  up  the  stage^  l.h.) 
Hark  thee,  Ratcliff,  when  saw-st  thou  Anne,  my 

queen  ? 
Is  she  still  weak  ?  Has  my  physician  seen  her? 
Rat.  He  has,  my  lord,  and  fears  her  mightily. 
K.  Rich.    But    he's   exceeding    skilful,  she'll 

mend  shortly. 
Rat.  I  hope  she  will,  my  lord.       [Exit.,  l.h.d. 
K.  Rich.  And  if  she  does,  I   have  mistook  ray 
man. 
I  must  be  married  to  my  brother's  daughter, 
At  whom  1  know  the  Breton,*  Richmond,  aims  ; 
And  by  that  knot  looks  proudly  on  the  crown. 
Eut  then  to  stain  me  with  her  brother's  blood; 
Is  that  the  way  to  woo  the  sister's  love  ? 
No  matter  what's  the  way  ;-^ 
Tear-falling  pity  dwells  not  in  this  eye  j 
For  while  they  live. 

My  goodly  kingdom's  on  a  weak  foundation. 
'Tis  done,  my  danng  heart's  resolved  ; — they're 
dead !  {Aside.) 

Enter  Buckingham,  l.h. 

Buck.  My  lord,  I  have  considered  in  my  mind. 

*  He  thus  denominates  Richmond,  because  after  the 
Dattle  of  Tevvksbury,  he  took  refuge  in  the  court  of  Fran- 
is  II.  Duke  of  Bretagne,  where  by  the  intrigues  ofEd- 
vard  IV.  he  was  kept  a  long^  time  in  a  kind  of  honourable 
ustody. 


70  RICHARD  III. 

The  late  request  that  you  did  sound  me  in. 
K.   Rich.  Well,  Jet  that  rest.— Dorset  is  fled 

to  Richmond. 
Buck.  1  have  heard  the  news,  my  lord. 
K.  Rich.  Stanley,  he's  your  near  kinsman  : — 

well,  look  to  him. 
Buck.  My  lord,  I  claim  that  gift,  my  due  by 
promise. 
For  which  your  honour  and  your  faith's  engag'd  ; 
The  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  those  moveables, 
Which  you  have  promised  I  shall  possess. 

K.  Rich.  Stanley,  look  to  your  wife  :    {Stanley 
advances.)  if  she  convey 
Letters  to  Richmond,  you  shall  answer  it. 

[Exit  Stanley,  r.h. 
Buck.  A\Tiat  says  your  highness  to  my  jusi 

request  ? 
K.  Rich.  I  do  remember  me,  Harry  the  Sixth, 
Did  prophesy,  that  Richmond  should  be  king. 
When  Richmond  was  a  little  peevish  boy. 
*Tis  odd  ! — a  king  ?  Perhaps — 

Enter  Catesby,  r.h.d. 

Cates.  My  lord,  I  have  obey'd  your  highness' 

orders 
Buck.  May  it  please  you  to  resolve  me  in  my 

suit. 
K.  Rich.  Lead  Tirrel  to  my  closet,  I'll  meet 

him.  [Exit  Catesby.,  r.h.d. 

Buck.  1  beg  your  highness'  ear,  my  lord. 
K.  Rich.  I'm  busy  1 — thou  troublest  me  ! — I'm 

jiojt  i'  tb'  vein  1  [Exit,  r.h.d. 


RICHARD  Ilh  71 

Buck.  Oh,  patience,  heav'n  !  is't  thus  he  pays 
my  service  ? 
Was  it  for  this  1  rais'd  him  to  the  throne  ? 
Oh  !  if  the  peaceful  dead  have  any  sense 
Of  the  vile  injuries  they  bore  while  living; 
Then  sure  the  joyful  souls  of  blood-suck'd  Edward, 
Henry,  Clarence,  Hastings,  and  all  that  through 
His  foul,  corrupted  deahngs  have  miscarry'd. 
Will  from  the  walls  of  heav'n  in  smiles  look  down, 
To  see  this  tyrant  tumbling  from  his  throne, 
His  fall  unmourn'd,  and  bloody  as  their  own. 

[Exit^  t.H, 

SCENE  III.— ^  Chamber  in  the  Tower, 
Enter  Tirrel,  Dighton,  and  Forest,  l.H. 

Tir.  Come,  gentlemen. 
Have  you  concluded  on  the  means  ? 

Forest.  Smothering  will  make  no  noise,  sir. 

Tir.  Let  it  be  done  i'  th'  dark ; — for  should 
you  see 
Their  young  faces,  who  knows  how  far  their  looks 
Of  innocence  may  tempt  you  into  pity  ? 
Stand  back. — 

Enter  Lieutenant,  r.h. 

Lieutenant,  have  you  brought  the  keys  ? 
Lieut,  1  have  'em,  sir. 

Tir.  Then  here's  your  warrant  to  dehver  'em. 

{Giving  a  ring.) 


^72  RICHARD  III. 

Lieut.  Your  servant,  sir.  {Crosses  to  l.h.) 

What  can  this  mean  !  why  at  this  dead  of  night 
To  give  'em  too  ?  'Tis  not  for  me  t'inquire. 

{Aside.) 
There,  gentlemen ; 

That  way ; — you  have  no  further  need  of  me. 
l^Exeunt.)  Lieut,  l.h.  the  others^  n.H. 

Enter  King  Richard,  through  m.d. 

K.  Rich.  Would  it  were  done  : 
There  is  a  busy  something  here, 
That  foohsh  custom  has  made  terrible 
To  the  intent  of  evil  deeds  ;  and  nature  too, 
As  if  she  knew  me  womanish,  and  weak, 
Tugs  at  my  heart-strings  with  complaining  cries. 
To  talk  me  from  my  purpose  : 
And  then  the  thought  of  what  men's  tongues 

will  say, — 
Of  what  their  hearts  must  think  ; 
To  have  no  creature  love  me  living,  nor 
My  memory  when  dead. 
Shall  future  ages,  when  these  childrens'  tale 
Is  told,  drop  tears  in  pity  of  their  hapless  fate, 
And  read  with  detestation  the  misdeeds  of  Gloster, 
The  crook-back'd  tyrant,  cruel,  barbarous, 
And  bloody  ?  Will  they  not  say  too. 
That  to  possess  the  crown,  nor  laws  divine 
Nor  human  stopt  my  way  ? — Why,  let  'em  say 
They  can't  but  say  I  had  the  crown  ;  [it  : — 

I  was  not  fool  as  well  as  villain. 
Hark  !  the  murder's  doing  :  princes,  farewell ; 
To  me  there's  music  in  your  passing-bell. 


RICHARD  III.  73 


Enter  Tirrel,  r.h. 

Now,  my  Tirrel,  how  are  the  brats  dispos'd  ? 
Say,  am  I  happy  ?  Hast  thou  dealt  upon  'em  ? 

Tir.  If  to  have  done  the  thing  you  gave  in 
charge, 
Beget  your  happiness, — then,  sir,  be  happy, 
For  it  is  done. 

K  Rich.  But  didst  thou  see  'em  dead  ? 

Tir.  I  did  my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  And  buried,  my  good  Tirrel  ? 

Tir.  In  that  I  thought  to  ask  your  highness' 
pleasure. 

K.  Rich.  I  have  it ; — I'll  have  'em  sure  ; — get 
me  a  coffin 
Full  of  holes,  let  'em  both  be  cramm'd  into  it  ; 
And  hark  thee,  in  the  night  tide  throw  'em  down 
The  Thames  ; — once  in,  they'll  find  the  way  to 

the  bottom  ; 
Meantime  but  think  how  I  may  do  thee  good, 
And  be  inheritor  of  thy  desire. 

Tir.  I  humbly  thank  your  highness. 

K.  Rich.  About  it  strait,  good  Tirrel. 

Tir.  Conclude  it  done,  my  lord.        [Exit^  r.h. 

K.   Rich.  Why    then,    my  loudest   fears   are 
hush'd  ; 
The  sons  of  Edward  have  eternal  rest, 
And  Anne,  my  wife,  has  bid  this  world  good  night ; 
While  fair  Elizabeth,  my  beauteous  niece. 
Like  a  new  morn,  lights  onward  to  my  wishes. 


74  RICHARD  III. 

Enter  Catesby,  l.h. 

Cates.  My  lord — 

K.  Rich.  Good  news,  or  bad,  that  thou  com'st 
in  so  bluntly  ?  [Richmond, 

Cates.  Bad  news,  my  lord  ;  Morton  is  fled  to 
And  Buckingham,  back'd  with  the  hardy  Welsh- 
Is  in  the  field,  and  still  his  power  increases,  [men, 
K.  Rich.  Morton  with  Richmond  touches  me 
more  near 
Than  Buckingham,  and  his  rash-levied  numbers. 
But  come,  dangers  retreat  when  boldly  they're 
confronted,  {Crosses  to  l.h.) 

And  dull  delay  leads  impotence  and  fear; 
Then  tiery  expedition  raise  my  arm. 
And  fatal  nvay  it  fall  on  crush'd  rebellion  ! 
Let's  muster  men,  my  council  is  my  shield  ; 
We  must  be  brief  when  traitors  brave  the  field. 

[Exeunt J  L.H. 

SCENE  IV.— The  Neighhmrkood  of  St.  PauVs. 

Enter  Queen,  and  the  Duchess  of  York,  r  jj. 

(^ueen.    Oh,    my   poor   children  ! — Oh,    my 
tender  babes ! — 
My  unblown  flowers,  pluck'd  by  untimely  hands ! 
If  yet  your  gentle  souls  fly  in  the  air, 
And  be  not  tix'd  in  doom  perpetual, 
Hover  about  me  with  your  airy  wings. 
And  hear  your  mothers  lamentation  ! 
Why  slept  their  guardian  angels  when  this  deed 
was  done  ? 


RICHARD  111.  75 

Due.  Y.  So  many  miseries  have  drainM  my  eyes, 
That  my  woe-wearied  tongue  is  still  and  mute  ; 
Why  should  calamity  be  full  of  words  ? 

Queen.  Let's  give  'em  scope  :  for  though  they 
can't  remove, 
Yet  do  they  ease  affliction.  [mations  ; 

Due.  Y.  Why,  then,  let  us  be  loud  in  excla- 
To  Richard  haste,  and  pierce  him  with  our  cries  : 
(Trumpet  sounds  a  rnarch.,  r.h.u.e.) 
Hark  !  his  trumpet  sounds  ; — this  way  he  must 
pass. 
Quccw.  Alas  !   I've  not  the  daring  to  confront 
him.  (^Crosses  to  r.h.) 

Due.  Y.  I  have  a  mother's  right,  I'll  force  him 
to  hear  me. 

Enter  King  Richard  a7id   Catesby,   with  forces., 
through  the  Gates.,  r.h.u.e.  Trumpet  sounds  a  march. 

K.  Rich.  Who  interrupts  me  in  my  expedition  ? 
Due.  Y.  Dost  thou   not  know  me  ?  Art  thou 

not  my  son  ? 
K.  Rich.  I  cry  your  mercy,  madam,  is  it  3^ou  ? 
Due.  K  Art  thou  my  son  ?  [yourself. 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  1  thank  heav'n,  my  father,  and 
Due.  Y.  Then  I  command  thee,  hear  me. 
K.  Rich.    Madam,   I  have    a   touch""^   of  your 

condition. 
That  cannot  brook  the  accent  of  reproof. 

Due  Y.  Stay,  I'll  be   mild  and  gentle  in  my 

words.  [haste. 

K.  Rich.  And  brief,  good  mother,  for  I  am  in 

*  A  particle  of  your  temper  or  disposition. 


76  RICHARD  III. 

Due.  Y.  Why,  I  have  staid  for  thee,  just  heaven 
In  torment  and  in  agony.  [knows, 

K.  Rich.  And  came  I  not  at  last  to  comfort  you  ? 

Due.  Y.  No,  on  my  soul;  too  well  thou  know'st 
A  grievous  burden  was  thy  birth  to  me  ;    [it ; — 
Tetchy  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy ; 
Thy   prime    of   manhood,    daring,    bold,    and 

stubborn ;  [bloody. 

Thy    age    contirm'd,    most   subtil,    proud,    and 

K.  Rich.  If  I  am  so  disgracious  in  thy  eye, 
Let  me  march  on,  and  not  offend  thee,  madam  ; 
Strike  up  the  drum.  (Qi/een  advances.,  r.h.) 

Due.  Y.  Yet  stay,  I  charge  thee,  hear  me. 

Queen.  If  not,  hear  me  ; — for  1  have  wrongs 
will  speak 
Without  a  tongue  : — methinks  the  very  sight 
Of  me  should  turn  thee  into  stone  ; 
Where  are  my  children,  Gloster  ? 

Due.  Y.  Where  is  thy  brother  Clarence  ? 

Queen.  Where  Hastings? 

Due.  Y.  Rivers  ? 

Queen.  Vaughan  ? 

Due.  Y.  Grey  ?  [drums,, 

K.  Rich.  A  flourish,  trumpets,  strike  alarum, 
Let  not  the  heav'ns  hear  these  tell-tale  women 
Rail  on  the  lords  anointed  : — strike,  I  say. 

(^Alarum  of  Drums  and  Trumpets.) 
Either  be  patient,  and  intreat  me  fair. 
Or  with  the  clamorous  report  of  war 
Thus  will  I  drown  your  exclamations. 

Due.  Y.  Then  hear  me  heav'n,  and  heav'n  at 
his  latest  hour 
Be  deaf  to  him,  as  he  is  now  to  me  ! 


RICHARD  III.  77 

Ere  from  this  war  he  turn  a  conqueror, 
Ye  powers  cut  oif  his  dangerous  thread  of  Hfe, 
Lest  his  hlack  sins  rise  higher  in  account 
Than  hell  has  pains  to  punish  !    (^Crosses  to  r.h.) 
Mischance  and  sorrow  wait  thee  to  the  held  ! 
Heart's  discontent,  languid  and  lean  despair, 
With  all  the  hells  of  guilt  pursue  th}'  steps  for 
ever !  [Exit^  r.h. 

Queeji.  Though  far  more  cause,  yet  much  less 
power  to  curse  [her. 

Ahides  in  me, — (^Advances^  r.h.) — I  sa}^  amen  to 
K.  Rich.  Stay,  madam,  I  would  beg  some  words 
with  you.  [to  grant ! 

Q^ueen.  What  canst  thou  ask,  that  I  have  now 
Is't  another  son  ?  Gloster,  I  have  none. 

K.  Rich.    You    have    a   beauteous    daughter, 

call'd  EUzabeth. 
Quee7i.  Must  she  die,  too  ? 
K,  Rich.  For  whose  fair  sake,  I'll  bring  more 
good  to  you, 
Than  ever  you  or  yours  from  me  had  harm  ; 
So  in  the  Lethe  of  thy  angry  soul  [wrongs 

Thou'lt  drown  the   sad  remembrance  of  those 
W^hich  thou  supposest  me  the  eruel  cause  of 
Queen.  Be  brief,  lest  that  the  process  of  thy 
kindness 
Lasts  longer  telling  than  th}^  kindness'  date. 
K.  Rich.  Know  then,  that  from  my  soul  I  love 
the  fair 
Elizabeth,  and  will  with  your  permission, 
Seat  her  on  the  throne  of  England.  [her  ? 

Queen.   Alas  !  vain  man,  how  canst  thou   woo 
K.  Rich.  That  would  I  learn  of  you, 
7* 


78  RICHARD  III. 

As  one  beingbest  acquainted  with  her  humour. 

Queen.  If  thou   wilt  learn   of  me,  then,  woo 
her  thus  : — 
Send  to  her,  by  the  man  whokill'd  her  brothers, 
A  pair  of  bleeding  hearts, — thereon  engraved, 
Edward  and  York  ; — then,  haply,  will  she  weep. 
On  this,  present  her  with  an  handkerchief 
Stain'd  with  their  blood,  to  wipe  her  woeful  eyes  • 
If  this  inducement  move  her  not  to  love. 
Read  o'er  the  history  of  thy  noble  deeds  ; 
Tell  her,  thy  pohcy  took  off  her  uncles, 
Clarence,  Rivers,  Grey  ?  nay,  and;  for  her  sake, 
Made  quick  conveyance  with  her  dear  aunt  Anne. 

K.  Rich.  You  mock  me,  madam ;  this  is  not  the 
To  win  your  daughter.  [way 

{King  Richard  retires  ;  converses  xvith  Rat- 
cliff^.,  and  sends  him  q^,  l.h.)  [love, 

Queen.  What  shall  I  say?  Still   to  affront  his 
I  fear,  will  hut  incense  him  to  revenge  ; 
And  to  consent,  1  should  abhor  myself ; 
Yet  I  may  seemingly  comply,  and  thus. 
By  sending  Richmond  word  of  his  intent, 
Shall  gain  some  time  to  let  my  child  escape  him. 
It  shall  be  so.     {Aside.— Richard  advances.) 
I  have  considerd,  sir,  of  your  important  wishes, 
And,  could  I  but  believe  you  real —      [above — 

K.  Rich.  Now,  by  the  sacred  hosts  of  saints 

Queen.  O,  do  not  swear,  my  lord  ;  I  ask  no 
oath. 
Unless  my  daughter  doubt  you  more  than  I. 

K.  Rich.  Oh,  my  kind  mother  !  (I  must  call 
Be  thou  to  her  my  love's  soft  orator  ;  [you  so) 
Plead  what  I  will  be,  not  what  I  have  been  ; 


RICHARD  111.  79 

Not  my  deserts,  but  what-l  will  deserve. 
And,  whea  this  warlike  arm  shall  have  chastisM 
The  audacious  rebel.  hot-brain"d  Buckingham; 
Bound  with  triumphant  garlands  will  1  come, 
And  lead  your  daughter  to  a  conqueror's  bed. 

Queen.  My  lord,  farewell ; — in  some  few  days 
expect 
To  hear  how  fair  a  progress  I  have  made  : 
Till  when,  be  happy,  as  you're  penitent. 

K.  Rich.  My  heart  goes  with  you  to  my  love. 
Farewell.  [Exit  Queen^  r.h. 

Relenting,  shallow-thoughted  woman ! 

Enter  Ratcliff,  l.h. 

How  now  !  the  news  ?  [coast, 

Ral,  Most  gracious  sovereign,  on  the  western 
Rides  a  most  powerful  navy,  and  our  fears 
Inform  us  Richmond  is  their  admiral. 
There  do  they  hull,  expecting  but  the  aid 
Of  Buckingham,  to  welcome  them  ashore. 

[Exit,  L.H. 

K.  Rich.  We  must  prevent  him  then. — Come 

hither,  Catesby. 
Gates.  My  lord,  your  pleasure  ?  [stantly, 

K.  Rich.   Post   to  the   Duke   of  Norfolk,  in- 
Bid  him  straight  levy  all  the  strength  and  power 
That  he  can  make,  and  meet  me  suddenly 
At  Salisbury  ; — commend    me    to  his  grace  ; — 
away.  [Exit  Catesby^  r.h. 


RICHARD  111. 


Enter  Lord  Stakley,  l.ii. 

Well,  my  lord,  what  news  have  you  gathered  ? 

Stan.  Richmond  is  on  the  seas,  my  lord. 

K.  Rich,  'ihere  let  him  sink, — and  be  the  seas 
on  him. 
White-liver'd  runagate  ; — what  does  he  there  ? 

Stan.  1  know  not,   mighty  sovereign,  but  by 

K.  Rich.  Well,  as  you  guess  ?  [guess. 

Stan.  Stirred  up  by  Dorset,  Buckingham,  and 
Morton, 
He  makes  for  England,  here  to  claim  the  crown 

K.  Rich.  Traitor  !  the  crown  ! 
Where  is  thy  power  then,  to  beat  him  back  ? 
Where  be  thy  tenants  and  thy  followers  ? 
The  foe  upon  our  coast,  and  thou  no  friends  to 

meet  'em  ! 
Or  hast  thou  march'd  them  to  the  western  shore, 
To  give  the  rebels  conduct  from  their  ships  ? 

Stan.  My  lord,  my  friends  are  ready  all  i'  th' 
north.  [north, 

K.  Rich.  The  north  !  why,  what  do  they  i'  th' 

When  they  should  serve  their  sovereign  in  the 

w  est  ?  [move  *. 

Stan.  They  yet  have  had   no  orders,  sir,   t® 
If  His  your  royal  pleasure  they  should  march, 
I'll  lead  them  on  with  utmost  haste  to  join  you, 
Where,  and  what  time,  your  majesty  shall  please, 

K.Rich.  What,  thou'dst   be  gone  to  join  with 
Richmond  ? — Ha —  [loyalty  : 

Stan.  Sir,  you  have   no   cause  to  doubt   my 
I  ne'er  yet  was,  nor  ever  will  be,  false. 


RICHARD  III.  81 

K.  Rich.  Away  then  to  thy  friends,  and  lead 
'em  on 

To  meet  me  ; — (Crosses  to  r.h.)  hold. — Come 
back  I'll  not  trust  thee.  [son, 

I've   thought  a  way  to  make  thee  sure  :--your 

George  Stanley,  sir,  I'll  have  him  left  behind  ; 

And  look  your  heart  be  firm. 

Or  else  his  head's  assurance  is  but  frail,  [him. 
Stan.  As  I  prove  true,  my  lord,  so  deal  with 
K.  Rich.  Away.  [Exit  Stanley,  r.h. 

Enter  Ratcliff,  l.h. 

Rat.  My  lord,  the  army  of  great  Buckingham, 
By  sudden  floods,  and  fall  of  waters, 
Is  half  lost,  and  scatter'd  : 
And  he  himself  wander'd  away  alone, 
No  man  knows  whither. 

K.  Rich.  Has  any  careful  officer  proclaim'd 
Reward  to  him  that  brings  the  traitor  in? 

Rat.  Such  proclamation  has  been  made,  my 
lord. 

Enter  Catesby,  r.h. 

Gates.  My  liege,  the  duke  of  Buckingham  is 

taken.  [Buckingham. 

K.  Rich.    Off  with   his  head ;— so  much  for 

Gates.  My  lord,   I  am  sorry  I  must  tell  more 

K.  Rich.  Out  with  it.  [news. 

Gates.     The  earl  of  Richmond,  with  a  mighty 

Is  landed,  sir,  at  Milford  ;  [power, 

And,  to  confirm  the  news,  lord  marquis  Dorset, 

And  sir  Thomas  Lovell,  are  up  in  Yorkshire. 


82  RICHARD  III. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  ay,  this  looks  rebellion  : — Ho  ! 

my  horse  ! 
By  heav'n,  the  news  alarms  my  stirring  soul ; 
Come  forth,  my  honest  sword,  which  here  I  vow, 
By  my  souPs  hope,  shall  ne'er  again  be  sheatb'd ; 
Ne'er  shall  these  watching  eyes  have  needful 

rest. 
Till  death  has  clos'd  *em  in  a  glorious  grave, 
Or  fortune  given  me  measure  of  revenge. 

[Exeunt,  r.h. 


END    or    ACT    IV, 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. — The  Country^  near  Tamwurth. 

Enter  Richmond,  Oxford,  Blunt,  and  others, 

L.H.U.E. 

Rich.  Thus  far,  into  the  bowels  of  the  land, 
Have  we  march'd  on  without  impediment. 
Gloster,  the  bloody  and  devouring  boar. 
Whose  ravenous  appetite  has  spoiled  your  fields, 
Laid  this  rich  country  waste,  and  rudely  cropt 
Its  ripen'd  hopes  of  fair  posterity, 
Is  now  even  in  the  centre  of  the  isle, 
As  we're  inform'd,  near  to  the  town  of  Leicester  : 
From  T  am  worth  thither  is  but  one  day's  march ; 


RICHARD  III.  83 

And  here  receive  we,  from  our  father  Stanley, 
Lines  of  fair  comfort  and  encouragement, 
Such  as  will  help  and  animate  our  cause  ; 
On  which  let's  cheerly  on,  courageous  friends, 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  a  lasting  peace. 
Or  fame  more  lasting  from  a  well-fought  war. 
Oxford.  Your  words  have   lire,  my  lord,  and 

warm  our  men,  [hearten'd 

Who  look'd,  methought,  but  cold  before  ; — dis- 
With  the  unequal  numbers  of  the  foe. 

Rich.  Why,  double  'em  still,  our  cause  would 

conquer  'em. 
Thrice  is  he  arm'd,  that  has  his  quarrel  just ; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  lock'd  up  in  steel. 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted  : 
The  very  weight  of  Gloster's  guilt  shall  crush 

him.  [our's. 

Blunt.  His  best  friends,  no  doubt,  will  soon  be 
Oxford.  He  has  no  friends,  but  what  are  such 

through  fear.  [heav'n. 

Rich.  And  we  no  foes,  but  what  are   such  to 

Then  doubt  not,  heav'n's  for  us  ; — let's  on,  my 

friends  :  [wings  ; 

True  hope  ne'er  tires,  but  mounts  with  eagle's 
Kings    it   makes   gods,    and   meaner   creatures 

kings.  [Exeunt.,  r.h. 

SCENE  \\.—Bomorth  Field, 
Enter  King  Richard,  Norfolk,  Ratcliff,  SfC  ; 

L.H.U.E. 

K.  Rich.  Here  pitch  our  tent,  even  in  Bos- 
worth  Field  : 


84  RICHARD  III. 

My  good  lord  of  Norfolk,  the  cheerful  speed 
Of  your  supply  has  merited  my  thanks. 

A''or.  1  am  rewarded,  sir,  in  having  power 
To  serve  your  majesty.  [with  my  tent ; 

K.  Rich.  You  have  our  thanks,   my   lord :  up 
Here   will  I  lie  to-night  ;* — but  where  to-mor- 
row ? 
Well,  no  matter  where. — Has  any  careful  friend 
Discover'd  yet  the  number  of  the  rebels  ? 

JVor.  My  lord,  as  1  from  spies  am  well  inform'd, 
Six  or  seven  thousand  is  their  utmost  power.  ^ 

K.  Rich.  Why,  our  battalia  treble  that  amount ; 
Besides,  the  king's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength, 
Which  they  upon  the  adverse  faction  want. 

JVor.  'J  heir  wants  are  greater  yet,  my  lord  ; — 
those  e'en 
Of  motion,  life,  and  spirit ; — did  you  but  know 
How  wretchedly  their  men  disgrace  the  field ; 
Oh,  such  a  tattered  host  of  mounted  scare-crows ! 
So  poor,  so  famish'd  ;  their  executors, 
The  greedy  crows,  fly  hovering  o'er  their  beads, 
Impatient  for  their  lean  inheritance. 

K.  Rich.  Now,  by   St.  Paul,  we'll  send  'em 
dinners  and  apparel ; 
Nay,  give  their  fasting  horses  provender, 
And  after  fight  'em. — How  long  must  we  stay. 
My  lords,  before  these  desperate  fools  will  give 
Us  time  to  lay  'em  with  their  faces  upwards  ? 

JVor.  Unless  their  famine  saves  our  swords  that 
labour, 

*  Richard  did  not  sleep  in  his  tent  the  night  before  the 
liattle,  but  in  the  town  of  Leicester. 


RICHARD  III.  88 

To-morrow's  sun  will  light  'em  to  their  ruin  ; 
So  soon,  I  hear,  they  mean  to  give  us  battle. 
K.  Rich,  The  sooner  still  the  better. — Come 
my  lords, 
Now  let's  survey  the  'vantage  of  the  ground  : 

[Crosses  to  r.h.) 
Call  me  some  men  of  sound  direction. 
JVor.  My  gracious  lord — 
K.  Rich.  What  say'st  thou,  Norfolk  ? 
JVor.  Might  I  advise  your  majesty,  you  yet 
Shall  save  the  blood  that  may  be  shed  to-morrow. 
K.  Rich.  How  so,  my  lord  ?  [me, 

JVor.  The  poor  condition   of  the   rebels  tells 
That  on  a  pardon  offer'd  to  the  lives 
Of  those  that  instantly  shall  quit  their  arms, 
Young  Richmond,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn,  were 
friendless.  [ry's  way. 

K.  Rich.  Why  that,  indeed,  was  our  sixth  Har- 
Which  made  his  reign  one  scene  of  rude  com- 
motion. 
I'll  be  in  men's  despite  a  monarch  ;  no, 
Let  kings  that  fear,  forgive, — blows  and  revenge 
for  me.  [Exeunt.^  r.h. 


SCENE  III. — Richmond's  Camp  in  Bostmorth 
Field, 

Enter  Richmond,  Oxford,  Blunt,  4*c.  l.h. 

Rich.  The  weary  sun  has  made  a  golden  set, 
And  by  yon  ruddy  brightness  of  the  clouds, 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to-morrow. 


86  RICHARD  III. 

Sir  William  Brandon,  you  shall  bear  my  standard , 
My  lord  oi  Oxford,  you,  sir  Walter  h'erbert, 
And  yen,  sir  vVillvim  Brandon,  stay  with  me: 
The  earl  of  Pembroke  keeps*  his  regiment. 
Here  have  1  drawn  the  model  of  our  battle, 

[Unfolding  a  Scroll.) 
Which  parts  in  just  proportion  our  small  power; 
Here  may  each  leader  know  his  several  charge. 

Enter  Officer,  l.h. 

Off.  Sir,  a  gentleman,  that  calls  himself  Stan- 
ley, 
Desires  admittance  to  the  earl  of  Richmond. 
Rich.  Now,  by  our  hopes,  my  noble  father-in- 
law  ; 
Admit  him : — [Exit  Officer.,  l.h.]  my  good  friends, 
your  leave  awhile. 

Enter  Lord  Stanley,  l.h.  Officers  retire. 

My  honour'd  father  !  on  my  soul, 
The  joy  of  seeing  you  this  night  is  more 
Than  my  most  knowing  hopes  presagM  : — what 
news  ?  [mother, 

Stan.  I,  by  commission,  bless  thee  from  thy 
Who  prays  continually  for  Richmond's  good  : 
The  queen  too  has  with  tears  of  joy  consented 
Thou  should'st  espouse  Elizabeth,  her  daughter, 
At  whom  the  tyrant  Richard  closely  aims. 
In  brief,  (for  now  the  shortest  moment  of 

*  Remains  with  it. 


RICHARD  III.  87 

My  stay  is  bought  with  hazard  of  my  hfe,) 
Prepare  thy  battle  early  in  the  morning, 
(For  so  the  season  of  attaiis  requires,) 
And  this  be  sure  of,  I,  upon  the  first 
Occasion  olferd,  will  deceive  some  e3'es, 
And  aid  thee  in  this  doubtful  shoe!;  of  arms  : 
In  which  I  had  more  forward  been,  ere  this, 
But  that  the  Hfe  of  thy  young  brother,  George, 
(Whom   as    my    pawn    of  fakh,   stern    Richard 

keeps,) 
Would  then  be  forfeit  to  his  wild  revenge. 
Farewell,  the  rude  enforcement  of  the  time 
Denies  me  to  renew  those  vows  of  love 
Which  so  long-sunder'd  triends  should  dwell  upon. 
Rick.  We  yet  may  meet  again,  my  lord. — 
Stan.  Till  then,  once  more  farewell, — be  re- 
solute, and  conquer. 
Rich.  Give  him  safe  conduct  to  his  regiment. 
[Exeunt  an  Officer^  and  Stanley,  r.h. 
Well,  sirs.  {Officers  advance.)  to-morrow  proves 
a  busy  day  :  [cil ; 

But  come,  the  night's  far  spent ; — let's  in  to  coun- 
Captam,  an  hour  before  the  sun  gets  up, 
Lei  me  be  wak  d  ; — f  will  in  person  walk 
From  tent  to  tent,  and  early  cheer  the  soldiers. 

[Exeunt.)  r.h. 

SCENE  \Y.—A  Wood. 

Enter  King  Richard,  Ratcliff,  Norfolk,  and 
Catesby,  l.h. 


K.  Rich.  Catesby. 
Cates.  Here,  my  lord. 


S8  RICHARD  III. 

K.  Rich.  Send  out  a  pursuivant  at  arms 
To  Stanley's  regiment  ;  bid  him,  'fore  sun-rise, 
Meet  me  with  his  power,   or  his  son  George's 
Shall  pay  the  forfeit  of  his  cold  delay.        [head 
What,  is  my  beaver  easier  than  it  was. 
And  all  my  armour  laid  into  my  tent  ? 

Gates.  It  is  my  liege,  all  in  readiness. 

K.  Rich.  What  is't  o'clock. 

Gates.  It  is  nine  o'clock,  my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Good  Norfolk,  hie  thee  to  thy  charge ; 
Use  careful  watch, — choose  trusty  centinels. 

J\''or.  Doubt  not,  my  lord.  {Crosses  to  l.h. 

K.  Rich.  Be  stirring  with  the  lark,  good  Nor- 
folk. 

Nor.  I  shall,  my  lord. —     [Exit  l.h. [morrow. 

K.  Rich,  Saddle  White  Surrey  for  the  field  to* 
Is  ink  and  paper  ready  ? 

Gates.  It  is,  my  lord.  [tent, 

K.  Rich.  An  hour  after  midnight,  come  to  my 
And  help  to  arm  me  : — a  good  night,  my  friends. 

[Exit^  R.H. 

Gates.  Methinks,  the  king  has  not  that  pleas'd 
alacrity. 
Nor  cheer  of  mind,  that  he  was  wont  to  have. 

Rat.  The  mere  effect  of  business  ; 
You'll  find  him,  sir,  another  man  i'th'field, 
When  you  shall  see  him  with  his  beaver  up, 
Readj'  to  mount  his  neighing  steed,  with  whom 
He  smiling  seems  to  have  some  wanton  talk. 
Clapping  his  paraperM  sides  to  hold  him  still; 
Then,  with  a  motion  swift  and  light  as  air. 
Like  fiery  Mars,  he  vaults  him  to  the  saddle  ; 
Looks  terror  to  the  foe.  and  courage  to  his  sol- 
dier?. 


RICHARD  III.  89 

Gates.  Good  night  to  Richmond  then  ;  for,  as 

I  hear, 
His  numbers  are  so  few^  and  those  so  sick, 
And  famishMin  their  march,  if  he  dares  fight  us,— 
He  jumps  into  the  sea  to  cool  his  fever. 
But  come,  'tis  late  ; — now  let  us  to  our  tents. 
We've  few  hours   good,    before    the    trumpet 

wakes  us.  [Exeunt^  l.h. 

SCENE  V.—Richarcrs  Tent 
Enter  King  Richard, /rom  his  Tent. 

K.  Rich.  'Tis  now  the  dead  of  night,  and  half 

the  world 
Is  in  a  lonely,  solemn  darkness  hung ; 
Yet  I  (so  coy  a  dame  is  sleep  to  me,) 
With  all  the  weary  courtship  of 
My  care-tir'd  thoughts,  can't  win  her  to  my  bed  ; 
Though  e'en  the  stars  do  wink,   as   'twere  with 

over-watching. 
I'll  forth  and  walk  awhile  ; — the  air's  refreshing, 
And  the  ripe  harvest  of  the  new-mown  hay 
Gives  it  a  sweet  and  wholesome  odour,  [to  camp 
How  awful  is  this  gloom  !  and  hark  !  from  camp 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  sounds  ; 
That  the  fixt  centinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  others  watch. 
Steed  thi-eatens  steed  in  high  and  boastful  neigh- 

ings,  [tents, 

Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear. — Hark  I  from  the 
The  armourers  accomplishing  the  knights, 
With  clink  of  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
8* 


90  RICHARD  III. 

Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation  :  while  some, 
Like  sacrifices,  by  their  fires  of  watch, 
With  patience  sit,  and  inly  ruminate 
The  morning's  danger. — By  yon  heav'n,  my  stern 
Impatience  chides  this  tardy-gaited  night, 
That  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  does  limp 
So  tediously  away, — I'll  to  my  couch, 
And  once  more  try  to  sleep  her  into  morning. 
(^Advances  toxvards  the  coucJi  ;—a  groan  is  heard.) 
Ha  !  what  means  that  dismal  voice  ?  Sure  'tis 
The  echo  of  some  yawning  grave, 
That  teems  with  an  untimely  ghost. — 'Tisgone  ! 
'Twas  but  my  fancy,  or,  perhaps,  the  wind. 
Forcing  its  entrance  through  some  hollow  ca- 
vern.— 
No  matter  what ; — I  feel  my  eyes  grow  heavy. 

(^Lies  down, — Sleeps.) 

King  Henry's  Ghost  appears. 

King.   H.    Oh !    thou,   whose  unrelenting 
thoughts,  not  all 
The  hideous  terrors  of  thy  guilt  can  shake  ; 
Whose  conscience,  with  thy  body,  ever  sleeps, — 
Sleep  on  ;  while  I,  by  heaven's  high  ordinance, 
In  dreams  of  horror  wake  thy  frightful  soul : 
Now,  give  thy  thoughts  to  me  ;  let  'em  behold 
These  gaping  wounds,  which  thy  death-dealing 
Within  the  Tower  gave  my  anointed  body :  [hand 
Now  shall  thy  own  devouring  conscience  gnaw 
Thy  heart,  and  terribly  revenge  my  murder. 


RICHARD  III.  91 

Lady  Anne's  Ghost  appears. 

Lady  A.  Think  on  the  wrongs   of  wretched 
Anne,  thy  wife, 
E'en  in  the  battle's  heat  remember  me, 
And  edgeless  fall  thy  sword, — despair  and  die. 

The  Ghosts  of  Prince  Edward  and  the  Duke  of 
York,  appear. 

Prince  E.    Richard,  dream  on,  and  see  the 
wandering  spirits 
Of  thy  young  nephews,  murderd  in  the  Tower  : 
Could  not  our  youth,  our  innocence,  persuade 
Thy  cruel  heart  to  spare  our  harmless  lives  ? 
Who,  but  for  thee,  alas!  might  have  enjoyM 
Our  many  promis'd  years  of  happiness. 
No  soul,  save  thine,  but  pities  our  misusage  : 
O,  'twas  a  cruel  deed  1  therefore  alone, 
Unpitying,  unpitied  shalt  thou  fall,      [me  away ; 

King  H.  The  morning's  dawn  has  summon'd 
And  let  that  wild  despair,  which  now  does  prey 
Upon  thy  mangled  thoughts,  alarm  the  world. 
Awake,  Richard,    awake,  to  guilty  minds 
A  terrible  example  !  {All  the  Ghosts  vanish,) 

K.  Rich.  {Starts  up.)  Give  me  another  horse, 
— bind  up  my  wounds  ! 

{Drops  on  his  Knees.) 
Have  mercy,  heav'n !  ha  !  soft, — 'twas  but  a 
But  then  so  terrible,  it  shakes  my  soul ;  f  dream  ; 
Cold  drops  of  sweat  hang  on  my  trembling  flesh  ; 
My  blood  grows  chilly,  and  I  freeze  with  horror  : 
Oh,  tyrant  conscience !  how  dost  thou  afflict  me  ;— 


92  RICHARD  III. 

When  I  look  back,  'tis  terrible  retreating ; 
I  cannot  bear  the  thought,  nor  dare  repent :   , 
I  am  but  man  ;  and  fate  do  thou  dispose  me. 

Enter  Catesey,  r.h. 

Who's  there  ?  (^Rises.) 

Cat.es.  'lis  I,  my  lord  ;  the  early  village  cock 
Hath  thrice  done  salution  to  the  morn  : 
Your  friends  are  up,  and  buckle  on  their  armour. 
K.  Rich.  Oh,  Catesby  !  I  have  had  such   hor- 
rid dreams.  [heeding. 
Cates  Shadows,  my  lord, — below  the  soldiers 
K.  Rich.  Now,  by  my  this  day's  hopes, — sha- 
dows to-night 
Have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard, 
Than  can  the  substance  of  ten  thousand  soldiers, 
Arm  d  all  in  proof,  and  led  by  shallow  Richmond. 
Cates.  Be  more  yourself,   my  lord :  consider, 
sir, 
W>re  it  but  known  a  dream  had  frighted  you, 
How  would  your  animated  foes  presume  on't ! 
K.  Rich.  Perish  the  thought  1 — no,  never  be 
it  said 
That  fate  itself  could  awe  the  soul  of  Richard. 
Hence,  babbhng  dreams  !  you   threaten  here  in 

vain! 
Conscience,  avaunt !  Richard's  himself  again  : 

{^Trumpets  sound  a  call.) 
Hark !  the  shrill  trumpet  sounds  to  horse  ;  away  ; 
My  soul's  in  arms,  and  eager  for  the  fray. 

[Flourish  of  Drums  and  Trumpets.)  Exeunt.^  r.h. 


RICHARD  III.  93 

SCENE  VII— J  Wood. 

{A  March.) 

Enter  Richmond,  Oxford,  Soldiers,  4'C.  l.h. 

Rich.  Halt. 

Sold.  (  Without.)  Halt,— halt ! 

Rich.  How  far  into  the  morning  is  it,  friends  ? 

Oxford.  Near  four,  my  lord. 

Rich.  'Tis  well,— 
I  am  glad  to  find  we  are  such  early  stirrers. 

Oxford.  Methinks  the  foe's  less  forward  than 
we  thought  'em ; 
Worn  as  we  are,  we  brave  the  field  before  'em. 

Rich.  Come,  there  looks  hfe  in  such  a  cheer- 
ful haste  : 
If  dreams  should  animate  a  soul  resolv'd,  [night ; 
I'm  more  than  pleas'd  with  those   I've  had  to- 
Methought  that  all  the  ghosts  of  them  whose 

bodies 
Richard  murder'd,  came  mourning  to  my  tent, 
And  rous'd  me  to  revenge  'em. 

Oxford.  A  good  omen,  sir, — ( Trumpet  sounds 
a  distant  March.^  r.h.)  hark  !  the  trumpet  of 
The  enemy ;  it  speaks  them  on  the  march. 

Rich.  Why  then  let's  on,  my  friends,  to  face 
'em  ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  mild  behaviour  r.nd  humility  ; 
But,  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Let  us  be  tigers  in  our  fierce  deportment : 


94  RICHARD  III. 

For  me,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 
Shall  be  this  body  on  the  earth's  cold  face ; 
But,  if  we  thrive,  the  glory  of  the  action 
The  meanest  here  shall  share  his  part  of; — 
Advance    your    standards,    draw    your    wiUing 
swords ;  [^^^^J- 

Sound  drams,  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheer- 
The  word's  St.  George,  l^ichmond,  and  Victory. 
\_Flourish  of  Drums  and  Trumpets^  Exeunt,    r.h. 

SCENE  Vll—Richarcrs  Camp. 

Enter  King  Richard,  Catesby,  and  Forces,  l.h.u.e. 

K  Rich.  Who  saw  the  sun  to-day  ? 
Cates.  He  has  not  yet  broke  forth,  my  lord. 
K.  Rich.   Then  he  disdains  to  shine, — for,  by 
the  clock, 
He  should  have  brav'd  the  east  an  hour  ago  : 
Not  shine  to-day  !  Whj  what  is  that  to  me, 
More    than    to    Richmond  !    for   the    self-same 

heav'n 
That  frowns  on  me,  looks  low'ring  upon  him. 

Enter  Norfolk,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand,   r.h. 

JVor.  Prepare,  my  lord,  the  foe  is  in  the  field. 
K.  Rich.  Come,   bustle,   bustle,  caparison  my 
horse. 
Call  forth  Lord  Stanley,  bid  him  bring  his  power ; 
Myself  will  lead  the  soldiers  to  the  pitim. 

[Exit,  Catesby,  l.h. 


RICHARD  III.  95 

Well,  Norfolk,  what  think'st,  thou  now  ? 

Xor.  That  we  shall  conquer  : — but  on  my  tent. 
This  morning  early,  was  this  paper  found. 

K.  Rich.   (Reads.)    "Jockey  of  Norfolk,  be 
not  too  bold, 
For    Dickon,*  thy  master,  's  bought  and  sold." 
A  weak  invention  of  the  enemy  ! 
Come,  gentlemen,  now  each  man  to  his  charge, 
And,  ere  we  do  bestride  our  foaming  steeds, 
Remember  whom  you  are  to  cope  withal, 
A  scum  of  Bretons,  rascals,  runaways. 
Whom  their  o'ercloy'd  country  vomits  forth 
To  desperate  adventures,  and  destruction. — 

Enter  Catesby,   l.h. 

What    says    Lord    Stanley,    will   he    bring   his 
power? 
Cates.  He   does  refuse,  my  lord  ; — he  will  not 
K.  Rich.  Off  with  his  son  George's  head    [stir. 
(^Distant  March.,  r.h.) 
JVor.    My  lord,    the    foe's    already    past    the 
marsh  ; — t 
After  the  battle  let  young  Stanley  die. 

^  Dickon  is  the  ancient  vulgar  familiarization  of 
Richard. 

t  There  was  a  large  marsh  in  Bosworth  plain  between 
the  two  armies.  Henry  passed  it,  and  made  such  a  dispo- 
sition of  his  forces  that  it  served  to  protect  his  right  wing. 
By  this  movement  he  gained  also  another  point,  that  his 
men  should  engage  with  the  sun  behind  them,  and  in  the 
faces  of  his  enemies  ;  a  matter  of  great  consequence,  wheft 
bows  and  arrows  were  in  use. 


96  RICHARD  III. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  after  be  it  then. 
A  thousand  hearts  are  swelling  in  my  bosom  ; 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head, 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood  ; 
And    thou,  our    warlike    champion,    thrice-re- 

nown'd 
St.  George,  inspire  me  w^ith  the  rage  of  lions : 
Upon  'em : — charge  : — follow  me !    [Exeunt  r.h. 

SCENE  VIII. A  part  of  Bosworth  Field.— 

Alarums, 

Enter  King  Richard,  r.h. 

K.  Rich.  What  ho  !  young  Richmond,  ho,  'tis 
Richard  calls ! 
I  hate  thee,  Harry,  for  thy  blood  of  Lancaster; 
Now  if  thou  dost  not  hide  thee  from  my  sword, 
Now  while  the  angry  trumpet  sounds  alarms, . 
And  dying  groans  transpierce  the  wounded  air, 
Richmond,  I  say,  come'forth,  and  singly  face  me  ; 
Richard  is  hoarse  with  daring  thee  to  arms. 

[Exit^  L.H. 

SCENE  IX.— ^    Wood. 

Enter  Catesby,  l.h.u.e.  ;  and  Norfolk,  r.h.u.e. 
ill  disorder. 
Gates.  Rescue  !  Rescue  !  my  lord  of  Norfolk, 
haste  ; 
The  king  enacts  more  wonders  than  a  man. 
Daring  and  opposite  to  every  danger  : 


RICHARD  III.  97 

His  horse  is  slain,  and  all  on  foot  he  fights, 
Seeking- for  Richmond  in  the  throat  of  death; 
Nay  haste,  my  lord, — the  day's  against  us. 

[Exeunt,  l.h.u.e. 

Enter  King  Richard  and  Ratcliff,  l.h. 

K.  Rich.  A  horse  !  a  horse  !  my  kingdom  for 

a  horse.  [yon  thicket 

Rat.  This   way,    this  way,   my  lord ; — below 

Stands  a  swift   horse  ;  away  ; — ruin  pursues  us  ; 

Withdraw,  my  lord,  for  only  flight  can  save  you. 

K.  Rich.  Slave  !  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 

And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die  ! 

[Exit.,  Rat.  L.H. 
I  think  there  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field, 
Five  have  I  slain  to  day,  instead  of  him: — 
A   horse  !  a  horse !  my   kingdom  for   a   horse. 

[Exit,  R.H. 

SCENE  X.—Bosworth  Field. 

Enter  Ki:?g  Richard,  l.h.  and  Richmond,  r.h. 
meeting. 

K.  Rich.  Of  one  or  both  of  us,  the  time  is 
come,  [is  thine; 

Rich.  Kind  heav'n,  I  thank  thee,  for  my  cause 
If  Richard's  fit  to  live,  let  Richmond  fall. 
K.  Rich.  Thy  gallant  bearing,  Harry,  I  could 
'plaud. 
But  that  the  spotted  rebel  stains  the  soldier, 
9 


I 


08  RICHARD  III. 

Rich.  Nor  should  thy  prowess,  Richard,  want 

my  praise, 

But  that   thy  cruel  deeds   have    stamp'd  thee 

tyrant !  [draws  it. 

So  thrive  my  sword,  as  heav'ns  high  vengeance 

K   Rich.  My  soul  and  body  on  the  action  both. 

Rich.  A  dreadful  lay  ; — here's  to  decide  it. 

(  A  larums. — Th  ey  fghi ;  Richard  falls. ) 
K.  Rich.  Perdition  catch  thy  arm  ;-the  chance 
is  thine, 
But  oh  !  the  vast  renown  thou  hast  acquir'd, 
In  conquering  Richard,  does  afflict  him  more 
Than  even  his  body's  parting  with  its  soul. 
Now  let  the  world  no  longer  be  a  stage 
To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act ; 
But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain 
Reign  in  all  bosoms  ;  that  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  actions,  the   rude  scene  may  end, 
And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead !  {Dies.) 
Rich.  Farewell,  Richard,  and  from  thy  dread- 
ful end 
May  future  kings  from  tyranny  be  warn'd ; 
Had  thy  aspiring  soul  but  stirr'd  in  virtue 
With  half  the  spirit   it  has  dar'd  in   evil, 
How  might  thy  fame   have  grac'd  our  English 

annals ! 
But  as  thou  art,  how  fair  a  page  thou'st  blotted ! 

[A  retreat  sounded.) 
Hark !  the  glad  trumpet  speaks  the  field  our  own. 

Enter  Lord  Stanley,  Oxford,  and  Soldiers^  with 
King  Richard's  Crown^  l.h. 


RICHARD  III.  99 

Oh,  welcome,  friends!  my  noble  father,  wel- 
come ! 

Heav'n  and  our  arms  be  prais'd,  the  day  is  ours ; 

See  there,  ni}^  lord's,  stern  Richnrr]  ;,;  no  more. 
Stan.  Victorious  Richmond,  well  hast  thou  ac- 
quitted thee !  [thee : 

And  see   the  just  reward  that  heav'n   has  sent 

Among  the  glorious  spoils  of  Bosworth-field, 

We've  found  the  crown,  which  now  in  right  is 
thine  : 

'Tis  doubly  thine  by  conquest  and  by  choice. 

Long  live  Henry  the  Seventh,  king  of  England  ! 
{Flourish  ; — all  Kneel.) 
Rich    Next  to  just  heav'n,  my  countrymen, 

I  owe  my  thanks  to  you,  whose  love  I'm  proud  of. 

And  ruling  well  shall  speak  my  gratitude 

But  now,  my  lords,  what  friends  of  ours  are 
missing  ! 

Pray  tell  me,  is  young  George  Stanley  living? 
Stan.  He  is,  my  liege,  and  safe  in  Leicester 
town. 

Whither  if  you  please,  we  may  withdraw  us. 

Ejiter  Blunt,  r.h. 

Blunt.   My  lord,  the  queen,  and  fair  Elizabeth, 
Her  beautGous  daughter,  some  few  miles   off, 
Are  on  their  way  to  'gratulate  your  victory. 

Rich.  Ay,  thnre,  indeed,  my  toil's  rewarded. 
Let  us  prepare  to  meet  'em,  lords  ; — and  then, 
As  we're  already  bound  by  solemn  vows, 
We'll  twine  the  roses  red  and  white  together, 
{They  wave  the  Banners.) 


100 


RICHARD  III. 


And  both  from  one  kind  stalk  shall  flourish  ! 
England  has  long  been  mad,  and  scarr'd  herself; 
The  brother  blindly  shed  the  brother's  blood  ; 
The  father  rashly  slaughtered  his  own  son  ; 
The  bloody  son,  compelled,  has  kill'dhis  sire. 
Oh,  now,  let  Henry  and  Elizabeth, 
The  true  successors  of  each  royal  house, 
Conjoin'd  together,  heal  those  deadly  wounds  ! 
And  be  that  wretch  of  all  mankind  abhorred. 
That  would  renew  those  bloody  days  again  ; 
Ne'er  let  him  live  to  taste  our  joy's  increase. 
That  would  with  treason  wound   fair  England'% 
peace  ! 


Disposition  of  the  Characters  when  the  Curtain/alls, 


L.H. 


©jrfirttg'!^  letrftfon. 


LIONEL   AND   CLARISSA, 

AN  OPERA ; 


THE   OJ.LY   EDITION  EXISTING,  AVHICH   IS   FAITHFULLY 

MARKED   WITH    THE  STAGE    BUSINESS, 

AND  STAGE    DIRECTIONS, 

AS  IT  IS  PERFORMED  AT  THE 


BOSTON  : 

WELLS  AND  LILLY— COURT-STREET, 

1822. 


i^rmarl^si. 


JL  HIS  opera  is  a  very  sufficient  witness  of  the  patienc? 
and  kindly  forbearance  of  our  forefathers  ;  nothing  but  the 
most  enduring  good-nature  could  have  suffered  it  to  pass  in 
safety  through  the  fiery  ordeal  of  a  first  night ;  a  disposi- 
tion which  certainly  does  not  belong  to  audiences  of  the 
present  day ;  with  them  to  be  easily  pleased  is  to  be  foolish, 
and  asperity  of  course  is  wisdom.  Happy  therefore  is  it 
for  us  that  we  have  found  an  occasion  of  writing  up  to  the 
taste  of  the  times  ;  however  severe  we  may  be,  we  shall 
sleep  with  untroubled  conscience  ;  but  before  entering  into 
a  particular  consideration  of  this  notable  work,  we  shall 
offer  a  few  observations  on  the  nature  of  opera  in  general. 

Opera  is  a  word  of  so  many  and  such  extended  significa- 
tions that  it  can  hardly  be  brought  within  the  reasonable 
limits  of  definition  ;  the  Italians  who  first  used  it  as  denot- 
ing a  peculiar  class  of  dramatic  composition,  in  such  em- 
ployment of  it  understand  a  drama  in  recitative,  intermixed 
with  songs.  The  idea  was  evidently  adopted  from  the 
Greek  tragedy,  which,  notwithstanding  the  critical  jargon 
of  classic  purity,  is  a  strange  mixture  of  speaking,  recita- 
tion,  and  dancing. 

In  borrowing  this  new  species  of  writing  from  the  Italians, 
we  have  foolishly  enough  dropped  its  chief  characteristic, 
recitative  ;  the  reason,  if  there  really  be  any  reason  for 
this  change,  is  probably  that  the  English  are  not  sufficient 


ly  musical  to  give  three  hours  of  continued  attention  to  the 
sweet  yet  somewhat  monotonous  melody  of  recitative  ;  cri- 
tics however  have  not  been  wanting  to  admire  and  defend 
this  absurdity ;  their  grand,  if  not  only,  argument  is,  that 
recitative  is  unnatural ;  "  This,  after  all,  is  the  best  fooling." 
Are  the  iambics  of  Greek  tragedy,  the  blank  verse  of  the  Eng- 
lish, or  the  rhimed  couplets  of  the  French,  a  jot  more  in  na- 
ture ?  The  fact  is,  that  no  species  of  drama,  either  in  acting 
or  reading,  is  a  strict  imitation  of  nature  ;  tragedy  is  more 
beautiful,  more  sublime,  and  more  pathetic  than  common 
life,  while  comedy  is  infinitely  more  brilliant.  Is  it,  for 
instance,  creditable  that  the  magnificent  ideas,  not  to  speak 
of  the  language,  which  resulted  from  the  study  and  reflec- 
tion of  a  mind  like  Shakspeare's,  should  in  a  moment  occur 
to  "Macbeth,"  "  Richard,"  or  "Othello?"  Allowing  these 
characters  to  have  the  same  genius  as  the  poet,  still  they 
would  need  reflection  to  produce  the  thoughts,  and  ailowing 
they  would  utter  them  without  reflection,  still  they  are 
more  than  the  purpose  requires,  and  though  men  speak 
more,  they  do  not  think  more  deeply,  than  the  immediate 
object  calls  for. — Are  such  plays  then  unnatural  ?  No — But 
we  are  going  farther  into  this  subject  than  we  intended  ;  it 
belongs  more  properly  to  the  review  of  Shakspeare's  pla)'S, 
and  to  that  we  must  refer  the  reader,  if  he  is  disposed  to 
travel  with  us  so  far. 

By  the  omission  of  recitative  our  opera  falls  into  another 
absurdity ;  the  transition  from  simple  speech  to  song  is  too 
abrupt,  unless  where  a  peculiar  situation  calls  for,  and 
thus  justifies  the  introduction  of  the  latter ;  but  this  can  only 
happen  seldom  ;  if  three  or  four  songs  throughout  a  whole 
opera  are  in  place,  it  is  as  much  as  can  be  expected,  and 
what  can  be  more  absurd  than  for  the  dialogue  to  suddenly 
cease,  the  music  of  the  orchestra  commence,  and  the  oha- 


racter  or  characters,  after  two  or  three  turns  on  the  stage 
begin  to  explain  their  sentiments  in  song  r — as  if  common 
speech  were  not  adequate  to  the  occasion.  There  is  a 
want  of  harmony  in  these  sudden  transitions,  which  is  the 
height  of  the  ridiculous ;  the  ear  is  as  much  offended  by 
them  as  the  understanding. 

There  is,  however,  one  radical  objection  to  recitative, 
but  not  sufficient  to  justify  its  absence  in  opera,  of  which 
it  is  so  essential  a  feature  ;  if  we  will  have  that  species  of 
drama,  we  must  be  content  to  take  it  with  all  its  defects ; 
we  have  no  right  to  quarrel  with  an  jEthiope  for  the  dark- 
ness of  his  complexion  ; — the  fault  alluded  to  is  its  inapti- 
tude to  express  the  quick  and  changing  shades  of  passion  ; 
in  its  most  rapid  movements  there  is  a  protraction,  a  swell 
of  sound,  which  very  faintly  images  the  violent  emotions  of 
the  mind  ;  besides  that,  the  muscular  action  requisite  in 
singing  prevents  the  actor  from  expressing  in  his  features 
any  strong  or  varied  sensation. 

A  second  general  objection  to  opera,  is  the  multitude  of 
songs,  which  clog  the  progress  of  the  story,  and  break  off 
our  feelings  when  most  excited  by  its  interest.  When  all 
our  sympathy  is  awakened,  and  expectation  is  attentive  to 
the  gradual  unfolding  of  a  well-managed  fable,  a  song 
snaps  the  thread  at  once ;  half  its  own  charms  are  lost  by 
its  coming  upon  a  mind  intent  on  something  else,  and  by 
the  time  it  is  concluded,  the  mind  has  altogother  lost  its 
first  position.  No  art,  no  discretion,  can  avoid  this  defect ; 
it  is  inherent  in  the  very  nature  of  opera,  and  affords  a 
pretty  strong  conclusion  against  that  sort  of  composition. 

To  these  general  points  of  censure,  common  to  all  the 

operatic  kind,  "  Lionel  and  Clarissa,"  adds  many  others, 

which,  though  not  absolutely  peculiar  to  itself,  are  seldom 

found  heaped  together,  and  in  such  abuodance.     The  fable 

1  * 


is  barren  and  improbable  ;  the  language  in  all  respects  be- 
low mediocrity  ;  not  only  without  wit,  but  even  destitute 
of  that  moderate  degree  of  elegance  expected  in  the  most 
common  compositions  ;  the  characters  feeble  though  exag- 
gerated, and  absurd  without  exciting  laughter.  It  has  all 
the  appearance  of  a  very  bad  novel,  metamorphosed  into  a 
worse  drama,  and  the  songs  are  such  as  might  be  supplied 
by  any  Scotch  Magazine  ;  they  have,  it  is  true,  very  fair, 
legitimate  rhimes,  but  little  sense,  and  less  poetry  ;  there  is 
not  a  single  attempt  in  them  to  raise,  delight,  or  refine,  the 
mind  ;  throughout  the  whole  is  a  comfortable  appearance 
of  mediocrity,  on  which  ignorance  might  rest,  and  however 
apt  to  wonder  at  trifles,  he  would  find  nothing  here  to  dis- 
turb his  slumbers  ;  it  is  the  genuine  drone  of  a  Scotch  bag- 
pipe, and  though  it  has  been  said,  that  some  good  may  be 
found  in  the  worst  books,  we  defy  any  critical  chemist  to 
extract  a  particle  of  spirit  from  this  mass  of  dullness  ;  oil 
might  as  likely  be  found  dwelling  in  a  flint,  or  fire  in  the 
ncam  of  water. 


Eimt  of  IXtpvtmntation. 


The  timo  this  piece  takes  in  representation,  is  about  two 
hours  and  forty-two  minutes.  The  first  act  occupies  the 
space  of  fifty-seven  minutes — the  second,  sixty — the  third, 
forty-five. — The  Half-price  commences,  generally,  at  a 
quarter  after  nine  o'clock. 


Costume. 


LIONEL. 
A  suit  of  black,  silk  gloves,  and  opera  hat. 

COLONEL  OLDBOY. 

Blue  regimental  coat ;  white  kerseymere  waistcoat  and  breeches,  and 
cocked  hat. 

SIR  JOHN  FLOWERDALE. 
A  blue  cloth  suit, 

JESSAMY. 
French  grey  coat,  trimmed,  braid  pud  silver  frogs  ;  white  waistcoat  » 
pink  under  waistcoat  ;  white  breeches  ;  pea-green  pelisse  ;  arm  hat,  trim- 
med with  white  feathers. 

JENKINS. 
Drab  cloth  suit  ;  a  cocked  hat« 

HARMAN. 
Blue  coat ;  white  waistcoat,  and  trowsers. 

FRENCH  VALET. 
Green  jacket  ;  silk  waistcoat,  and  buff* pantaloons. 
Four  Servants  :  white  liveries— Tico  Servantt :  grey  liveries. 

CLARISSA. 
White  satin  body  ;  white  muslin  petticoat,  trimmed  with  white  satio 

and  lace. 

LADY  MARY 

First  Dress— Plain  white  muslin.— Second  Dresa— Coloured  satin  round 
dress,  trimmed  with  lace 

DIANA. 

First  Dress— Plain  white  musiii!— Second  Dress— Muslin  pettiCOSU, 
trimmed  with  roses  ;  pink  satin  body 

JENNY. 
MasUo  gown  ;  apron,  trimmed  with  blue  ribbon* 

Maid  :  coloured  cotton  gown. 


^erisonis  3flri)rtisrnteti. 


Drury-lane*  Lyceum. 

Sir  John  Flcrwerdak    ....    Mr.  PowelL  Mr.  Phillips. 

CdonelOldboy Mr.  Dowton,  Mr.  W.Chatterl#. 

Lionel Mr.  Cooke.  Mr  Peanoan. 

Jestamy Mr.  Penley.  Mr.  Wrench. 

Harmon        Mr.  Pyne.  Mr.  Broadhurst. 

J(in/cins      <.«...,    .    Mr.  Smith.-  Mr.  Isaacs. 

Lady  Mary  Oldboy     ....    Mrs.  Sparks.  Mrs.  Grove. 

ClarUsn     , Miss  Byrne.  Mrs.  H.  Kemble. 

Diana    . Miss  Kelly.  Miss  Stephensop. 

Jinny Mrs.  Bland,  Miss  Kelly. 


Stage  Directions, 


«y  R.H. 

L.H. 
S.E. 
U.E. 
M.D. 


IS  meant 


Right  Hand. 
Left  Hand. 
Second  Entrance, 
Upper  Entrance. 
Middle  Door. 


D.F.    --  —  —  -----  —  --  Door  in  Flat. 


R.H.D. -  -  -  -  r  Right  Hand  Door, 

iLsH.D.  --------------  Left  Hand  Door, 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. — A  Chamber  in  Colonel  Oldboy's  House  : 
Colonel  Oldboy  is  discovered  at  breakfast^  reading 
a  news-paper  ;  at  a  little  distance  from  the  tea-- 
table  sits  Jenkins  ;  and  on  the  opposite  side  Diana, 
who  appears  playing  upon  a  harpsichord.  A  girl 
attending. 

TtllO. 

Ah^  how  delightful  the  mornings 

How  sweet  are  the  prospects  it  yields ; 

Summer  luxuriant  adorning 

The  gardens,  the  groves,  and  thefelds. 

Be  grateful  to  the  season. 

Its  pleasures  leVs  employ ; 
Kind  nature  gives,  and  reason 

Permits  us  to  enjoy.  {Exit  Maid,  r.h. 

Col  Well  said,  Dy,  thank  you,  Dy.  This, 
master  Jenkins,  is  the  way  1  make  my  daugfhter 
entertain  me  every  morning  at  breakfast.    Come 


10  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

here  and  kiss  me,  you  slut,  come  here  and  kis^ 
me,  you  baggage. 

Dia.  Lord,  papa,  you  call  one  such  names — 

Col.  A  fine  girl,  master  Jenkins,  a  devilish 
fine  girl !  she  has  got  my  eye  to  a  twinkle. 
There's  fire  for  you — spirit ! — I  design  to  marry 
her  to  a  duke  :  how  much  money  do  you  think 
a  duke  would  expect  with  such  a  wench  ? 

Jen.  Why,  Colonel,  with  submission,  I  think 
there  is  no  occasion  to  go  out  of  our  own  country 
here  ;  we  have  never  a  duke  in  it,  I  beUeve, 
but  we  have  many  an  honest  gentleman,  who, 
in  my  opinion,  might  deserve  the  young  lady. 

Col.  So,  you  would  have  me  marry  Dy  to  a 
country  'squire,  eh  !  How  say  you  to  this,  Dy  ! 
would  not  you  rather  be  married  to  a  duke  ? 

Dia.  So  my  husband's  a  rake,  papa,  I  don't 
care  what  he  is. 

Col.  A  rake  !  you  damned  confounded  little 
baggage  ;  why  you  would  not  wish  to  marry  a 
rake,  wou'd  you  ?  So  her  husband  is  a  rake,  she 
does  not  care  what  he  is  !  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Dia.  Well,  but  Usten  to  me,  papa — When 
you  go  out  with  your  gun,  do  you  take  any 
pleasure  in  shooting  the  poor  tame  ducks  and 
chickens  in  your  yard  ?  No,  the  partridge,  the 
pheasant,  the  woodcock,  are  the  game  ;  there 
is  some  sport  in  bringing  them  down,  because 
they  are  wild  ;  and  it  is  just  the  same  with  an 
husband  or  a  lover.  I  would  not  waste  powder 
and  shot,  to  wound  one  of  your  sober  pretty 
behaye^   gentlemen ;    but    to    hit    a   libertine, 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  11 

extravagant,  madcap  fellow,  to  take  him  upon 
the  wing — 

Col.  Do  you  hear  her,  master  Jenkins  ?  Ha, 
ha,  ha  ! 

Jen.  Well,  but,  good  colonel,  what  do  you  say 
to  my  worthy  and  honourable  patron  here,  sir 
John  Flowerdale  ?  He  has  an  estate  of  eight 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  as  well  paid  rents  as 
any  in  the  kingdom,  and  but  one  only  daughter 
to  enjoy  it ;  and  yet  he  is  willing,  you  see,  to 
give  this  daughter  to  your  son. 

Dia.  Pray,  Mr.  Jenkins,  how  does  Miss  Cla- 
rissa and  our  university  friend,  Mr.  Lionel  ? 
That  is  the  only  grave  young  man  I  ever  liked, 
and  the  only  handsome  one  1  ever  was  acquaint- 
ed with,  that  did  not  make  love  to  me. 

Col.  Aye,  master  Jenkins,  who  is  this  Lionel  ? 
They  say  he  is  a  damn'd  witty  knowing  fellow ; 
and  egad  1  think  him  well  enough  for  one 
brought  up  in  a  college. 

Jen.  His  father  was  a  general  officer,  a  parti- 
cular friend  of  sir  John's,  who,  like  many  more 
brave  men,  that  Hve  and  die  in  defending  their 
country,  left  little  else  than  honour  behind  him. 
Sir  John  sent  this  young  man,  at  his  own  expense, 
to  Oxford  ;  during  the  vacation  he  is  come  to 
pay  us  a  visit,  and  sir  John  intends  that  he  shall 
shortly  take  orders  for  a  very  considerable 
benefice  in  the  gift  of  the  family,  the  present 
incumbent  of  which  is  an  aged  man. 

Dia.  The  last  time  I  was  at  your  house,  he 
was  teaching  Miss  Clarissa  mathematics  and 
philosophy.    Lord,  what  a  strange  brain  I  have  ! 


12  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

If  I  was  to  sit  down  to  distract  myself  with  such 
studies — 

Col  Go,  hussy,  let  some  ,of  your  brother's 
rascals  inform  their  master  that  he  has  been 
long-  enough  at  his  toilet ;  here  is  a  message 
from  sir  John  Flowerdale — You  a  brain  for 
mathematics  indeed !  We  shall  have  women 
wanting  to  head  our  regiments  to-morrow  or 
next  day. 

Dia.  Well,  papa,  and  suppose  we  did.  I 
beheve,  in  a  battle  of  the  sexes,  you  men  would 
hardly  get  the  better  of  us. 

SONG. 

To  rob  them  of  strength,  when  nise  nature  thought  Jit 

By  women  to  still  do  her  duty. 
Instead  of  a  sword  she  endu*d  them  with  wit. 

And  gave  them  a  shield  in  their  beauty, 

Sound,  sound  then  the  trumpet^  both  sexes  to  arms. 

Our  tyrants  at  once  and  protectors  ! 
We  quickly  shall  see,  whether  courage  or  charms,^"^ 

Decide  for  the  Helens  or  Hectors.  [Exit,  r.h. 

Col.  Well,  master  Jenkins !  don't  you  think 
now  that  a  nobleman,  a  duke,  an  earl,  or  a 
marquis,  might  be  content  to  share  his  title — I 
say,  you  understand  me — with  a  sweetener  of 
thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds,  to  pay  off  mort- 
gages ?  Besides,  there  is  a  prospect  of  my  whole 
estate  ;  for  I  dare  swear,  her  brother  will  never 
have  any  children. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  13 

Jen.  I  should  be  concerned  at  that,  colonel, 
when  there  are  two  such  fortunes  to  descend  to 
his  heirs,  as  yours  and  sir  John  Fiowerdale's. 

Col.  Why  look  you,  master  Jenkins,  sir  John 
Flowerdale  is  an  honest  gentleman  ;  our  families 
are  nearly  related  ;  we  have  been  neighbours 
time  out  of  mind  ;  and  if  he  and  I  have  an  odd 
dispute  now  and  then,  it  is  not  for  want  of  a 
cordial  esteem  at  bottom.  He  is  going  to  marry 
his  daughter  to  my  son  ;  she  is  a  beautiful  girl, 
an  elegant  girl,  a  sensible  girl,  a  worthy  girl, 
and — a  word  in  your  ear — damn  me  if  I  an't 
very  sorry  for  her. 

Jen.  Sorry,  colonel ! 

Co/.  Aye — between  ourselves,  master  Jenkins, 
my  son  won't  do. 

Jen.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

Col.  I  tell  you,  master  Jenkins,  he  won't  do — 
he  is  not  the  thing — a  prig^ — At  sixteen  years 
old,  er  thereabouts,  he  was  a  bold,  sprightly 
boy,  as  you  should  see  in  a  thousand  ;  could 
drink  his  pint  of  port,  or  his  bottle  of  claret — 
now  he  mixes  all  his  wine  with  water. 

Jen.  Oh  !  if  that  be  his  only  fault,  colonel,  he 
will  ne'er  make  the  worse  husband,  I'll  answer 
for  it. 

Col  You  know  my  wife  is  a  woman  of  quality 
— I  was  prevailed  upon  to  send  him  to  be  brought 
up  by  her  brother  lord  Jessamy,  who  had  no 
children  of  his  own,  and  promised  to  leave  him 
an  estate — he  has  got  the  estate  indeed,  but, 
the  fellow  has  taken  his  lordship's  name  for  it. 
Now  master  Jenkins,  I  irould  be  glad  to  know, 


14  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

how  the  name  of  Jessamy  is  better  than  that  of 
Oldboy. 

Jen.  Well !  but,  colonel,  it  is  allowed  on  all 
hands  that  his  lordship  has  given  your  son  an 
excellent  education. 

Col  Psha  !  he  sent  him  to  the  university, 
and  to  travel,  forsooth ;  but  what  of  that ; 
I  was  abroad,  and  at  the  university  myself, 
and  never  a  rush  the  better  for  either.  I 
quarrelled  with  his  lordship  about  six  years 
before  his  death,  and  so  had  not  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  how  the  youth  went  on  ;  if  I  had, 
master  Jenkins,  1  would  no  more  have  suffered 
him  to  be  made  such  a  monkey  of — He  has 
been  in  my  house  but  three  days,  and  it  is  all 
turned  tops3'-turvy  by  him  and  his  rascally 
servants — then  his  chamber  is  like  a  perfumer's 
shop,  with  washballs,  pastes,  and  pomatum — 
and,  do  you  know,  he  had  the  impudence  to  tell 
me  yesterday  at  my  own  table,  that  I  did  not 
know  how  to  behave  myself? 

Jen.  Pray,  colonel,  how  does  my  lady  Mary  ? 

Col.  What  my  wife  ?  in  the  old  way,  master 
Jenkins;  always  complaining;  ever  something 
the  matter  with  her  head,  or  her  back,  or  her 
legs — but  we  have  had  the  devil  to  pay  lately — 
she  and  I  did  not  speak  to  one  another  for  three 
weeks. 

Jen.  How  so,  sir  ? 

Col.  A  little  affair  of  jealousy — you  must 
know  my  game-keeper's  daughter  has  had  a 
child,  and  the  plaguy  baggage  takes  it  into  her 
head  to  lay  it  to  me — Upon  my  soul,  it  is  a  fine 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  16 

fat  chubby  infant  as  ever  I  set  my  eyes  on  ; 
I  have  sent  it  to  nurse  ;  and,  between  you  and 
me,  I  believe  I  shall  leave  it  a  fortune. 

Jen.  Ah,  colonel,  you  will  never  give  over. 

Col.  You  know  my  lady  has  a  pretty  vein  of 
poetry  ;  she  writ  me  an  heroic  epistle  upon  it, 
where  she  calls  me  her  dear,  false  Damon  ; 
so  I  let  her  cry  a  little,  promised  to  do  so  no 
more,  and  now  we  are  as  good  friends  as  ever. 

Jen.  Well,  colonel,  I  must  take  my  leave  ,* 
I  have  delivered  my  message,  and  sir  John  may 
expect  the  pleasure  of  your  company  to  dinner. 

CoL  Aye,  aye,  well  come — plague  o'  cere- 
mony among  friends.  But  won't  you  stay  to 
see  my  son  ;  I  have  sent  to  him,  and  suppose 
he  will  be  here  as  soon  as  his  valet-de-chambre 
will  give  him  leave. 

Jen.  There  is  no  occasion,  good  sir :  present 
my  humble  respects,  that's  ail. 

Col.  Well  but,  zounds  !  Jenkins,  you  must  not 
go  till  you  drink  something — let  you  and  I  have 
a  bottle  of  hock — 

Jen.  Not  for  the  world,  colonel ;  I  never 
touch  any  thing  strong  in  the  morning. 

CoL  Never  touch  any  thing  strong  !  Why  one 
bottle  won't  hurt  you,  man,  this  is  old,  and  as 
mild  as  milk. 

Jen.  V/ell,  but,  colonel,  pray  excuse  me. 

SONG. 

To  tell  you  the  truths  ,> 

Jn  the  days  of  my  youth, 


16  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

j4s  mirth  and  nature  />irf, 
/  lik'd  a  glass. 
And  I  lov'd  a  lass, 

And  I  did  as  younkers  did. 

But  now  I  am  old. 
With  grief  be  it  told, 

I  must  those  freaks  forbear ; 
At  sixty-three, 
'Twixt  you  and  me, 

A  man  grons  norsefor  wear. 

[ExU^  L.H. 

E-nter   Mr.  Jessamy,   Lady   Mary   Oldboy,   and 
Maid,  r.h. 

Lady  M.  Shut  the  door,  why  don't  you  shut 
the  door  there  ?  Have  you  a  mind  I  should  catch 
my  '/Jeath  ?  This  house  is  absolutely  the  cave  of 
.iLohis  ;  one  had  as  good  live  on  the  Eddy-stone, 
or  in  a  wind-mill. 

Mr.  Jes.  I  thought  they  told  your  ladyship 
that  there  was  a  messenger  here  from  sir  John 
Flowerdale. 

CoL  Well,  sir,  and  so  there  was ;  but  he  had 
not  patience  to  wait  upon  your  curling-irons. 
Mr.  Jenkins  was  here,  sir  John  Flowerdale's 
steward,  who  has  lived  in  the  family  these  forty 
years. 

Mr.  Jes.  And  pray,  sir,  might  not  sir  John 
Flowerdale  have  come  himself:  if  he  had  been 
acquainted  with  the  rules  of  good  breeding,  he 
would  have  known  that  I  ought  to  have  been 
visited.    {Goes  vp  ike  Sfage^  r.h. — Crosses  to  l.h.) 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  17 

Lady  M.  Upon  my  word,  colonel,  this  is  a 
solecism 

Col  'Sblood,  my  lady,  it's  none.  Sir  John 
Flo  werdale  came  but  last  night  from  his  sister's  seat 
in  the  west,  and  is  a  little  out  of  order.  But  I 
suppose  he  thinks  he  ought  to  appear  before  him 
with  his  daughter  in  one  hand,  and  his  rent-roll 
in  the  other,  and  cry,  sir,  pray  do  me  the  favour 
to  accept  them. 

Lady  M.  Nay,  but,  Mr.  Oldboy,  permit  me  to 
say- 
Co/.  He  need  not  give  himself  so  many  affect- 
ed airs,  I  think  it's  very  well  if  he  gets  Puch  a 
girl  for  going  for  ;  she's  one  of  the  handsomest 
and  richest  in  this  country,  and  more  than  he  de- 
serves 

Mr.  Jes.  (Ow  L.H.)  That's  an  exceeding  fine 
china  j;ir  your  ladyship  has  got  in  the  next  room  ; 
I  saw  the  fellow  of  it  the  other  day  at  Wil- 
liams's, and  will  send  to  my  agent  to  purchase  it : 
it  is  the  true  matchless  old  blue  and  white.  Lad}"" 
Betty  Barebones  has  a  couple  that  she  gave  an 
hundred  guineas  for,  on  board  an  Indiaman; 
but  she  reckons  them  at  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five,  on  account  of  half  a  dozen  plates,  four 
nankeen  beakers,  and  a  couple  of  shaking  man- 
darins, that  the  custom-house  officer  took  from 
under  her  petticoats. 

Col.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  this  !  He's 
chattering  about  old  china,  while  I  am  talking  to 
him  of  a  fine  girl.  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Jessamy, 
since  that's  the  name  you  choose  to  be  called 
by,  I  have  a  good  mind  to  knock  you  down. , 
2* 


18  LIONEL  AND   CLARISSA. 

Mr.  Jes.  Knock  me  down,  colonel !  what  do 
you  mean  ?  I  must  tell  you,  sir,  this  is  a  lan- 
guage to  which  1  have  not  been  accustomed ; 
and,  if  you  think  proper  to  continue  to  repeat  it, 
I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of"  quitting  your 
house. 

Col.  Quitting  my  house  ? 

Mr.  Jes.  Yes,  sir,  incontinently. 

Col.  Why,  sir,  am  not  I  your  father,  sir,  and 
have  I  not  a  right  to  talk  to  you  as  I  like  ?  I 
will,  sirrah.  But,  perhaps,  I  mayn't  be  your  fa- 
ther, and  I  hope  not. 

Lady  M.  Heavens  and  earth,  Mr.  Oldboy  ! 

Col.  What's  the  matter,  madam — I  mean,  ma- 
dam, that  he  might  have  been  changed  at  nurse, 
madam — and  I  believe  he  was. 

Mr.  Jes.  Huh  !  huh !  huh  ! 

Col.  Do  you  laugh  at  me,  you  saucy  jacka- 
napes! 

Lady  M.  Who's  there  ? — Somebody  bring  me 
a  chair.  Really,  Mr.  Oldboy,  you  throw  my 
weakly  frame  into  such  repeated  convulsions — 
but  I  see  your  aim ;  you  want  to  lay  me  in  my 
grave,  and  you  will  very  soon  have  that  satisfac- 
tion. 

Col'  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  him. 

Lady  M.  Open  that  window,  give  me  air,  or  I 
shall  faint. 

Mr.  Jes.  Hold,  hold,  let  me  tie  a  handkerchief 
about  my  neck  first.  This  cursed  sharp  north- 
wind — Antoine,  bring  down  my  muff. 

Col.  Aye,  do,  and  his  great-coat. 


LIONEL  AND   CLARISSA.  19 

Enter  Antoine,  l.h.  with  great-coat  and  muff. 

Lady  M.  Marg'ret,  some  harts-horn.  [Exit 
Antoine^  l.h.]  My  dear  Mr.  Oldboy,  why  will 
you  fly  out  in  this  way,  when  you  know  how  it 
shocks  my  tender  nerves? 

Col.  'Sblood,  madam,  ii's  enough  to  make  a 
man  mad. 

Lady  M.  Hartshorn !  hartshorn  ! 

Enter  Maid,  r.h. 

Mr.  Jes.  Colonel  ! 

Col.  Do  you  hear  the  puppy  ? 

Mr.  Jes.  Will  you  give  me  leave  to  ask  one 
question  ? 

Col.  I  don't  know  whether  I  will  or  not. 

Mr.  Jes.  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  that's  all, 
what  single  circumstance  in  my  conduct,  car- 
riage, or  figure,  you  can  possibly  find  fault  with 
— Perhaps  I  may  be  brought  to  reform-Pr'ythee 
let  me  hear  from  your  own  mouth,  then,  se- 
riously, what  it  is  you  do  like,  and  what  it  is  you 
do  not  like. 

Col.  Hum! 

Mr.  Jes.  Be  ingenuous,  speak,  and  spare  not. 

Col  You  would  know  ? 

SONG . 

Zou7ids,  sir !  then  Pll  tell  you  without  any  jest. 
The  thing  of  all  things,n'hich  I  hate  and  detest : 


20  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

A  coxcomb^  <ifopt 
A  dainty  milk'Sop, 
Who,  essenc*d  and  dizen'dfrom  bottom  to  top, 
Looks  just  like  a  doll  for  a  milliner'' s  shop : 
A  thing  full  of  prate. 
And  pride  and  conceit ; 
All  fashion,  no  weight  ; 
Who  shrugs  and  takes  snuff, 
And  carries  a  muff; 
A  minikin^ 
Finiking, 
French  powder^ d^-puff : 
And  noWf  sir^  I  fancy,  I've  told  you  enough. 

[Exit^  L.H. 

Mr.  Jes.  What's  the  matter  with  the  colonel, 
madam  ;  does  your  ladyship  know  ? 

Lady  M.  Heigho !  don't  be  surprised,  my 
dear ;  it  was  the  same  thing  with  my  late  dear 
brother,  lord  Jessamy  ;  they  never  could  agree  ; 
that  good-natured  friendly  soul,  knowing  the  de- 
licacy of  my  constitution,  has  often  said,  sister 
Mary,  I  pity  you.  Not  but  your  father  has 
good  qualities,  and  I  assure  you  I  remember  him 
a  very  fine  gentleman  himself.  When  he  first 
paid  his  addresses  to  me,  he  was  called  agree- 
able Jack  Oldboy,  though  I  married  him  with- 
out the  consent  of  your  noble  grandfather. 

Mr.  Jes.  I  think  he  ought  to  be  proud  of  me  : 
I  believe  there's  many  a  duke,  nay  prince,  who 
would  esteem  themselves  happy  in  having  such 
a  son — 

Lady  M.  Yes,  my  dear  ;  but  your  sister  was 
always  your  father's   favourite :  he  intends  to 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  21 

give  her  a  prodigious  fortune,  and  sets  his  heart 
upon  seeing  her  a  woman  of  quality. 

Air.  Jes.  He  should  wish  to  see  her  look  a 
little  like  a  gentlewoman  first  When  she  was 
in  London  last  winter,  I  am  told  she  was  taken 
notice  of  by  a  few  men.  But  she  wants  air, 
manner — 

Lady  M.  And  has  not  a  bit  of  the  genius  of 
our  family,  and  I  never  knew  a  woman  of  it  but 
herself  without.  I  have  tried  her  :  about  three 
years  ago  I  set  her  to  translate  a  little  French 
song  :  I  found  she  had  not  even  an  idea  of  ver- 
sification ;  and  she  put  down  love  and  joy  for 
rhyme — so  I  gave  her  over. 

Mr.  Jes.  W  hy,  indeed,  she  appears  to  have 
more  of  the  Thalestris  than  the  Sappho  about 
her. 

Lady  M  Well,  my  dear,  I  must  go  and  dress 
myself,  though  I  protest  1  am  fitter  for  my  bed 
than  my  coach.  And  condescend  to  the  colonel 
a  little — Do  my  dear,  if  it  be  only  to  oblige  your 
mamma.  [Exit^  r.h. 

Mr  Jes.  Let  me  consider — 1  am  going  to  visit 
a  country  baronet  here,  who  would  fain  prevail 
upon  me  to  marry  his  daughter :  the  old  gentle- 
man has  heard  of  my  parts  and  understanding, 
miss  of  my  figure  and  address.  But,  suppose  I 
should  not  like  her  when  I  see  her — Why,  posi- 
tively, then  I  will  not  have  her  ;  the  treaty's  at 
an  end,  and  san<  compliment,  we  break  up  the 
congress.  But,  won't  that  be  cruel,  after  hav- 
ing suffered  her  to  flatter  herself  with  hopes, 
and  showing  myself  to  her.     She's   a  strange 


22  LIONEL   AND  CLARISSA. 

dowdy  I  dare  believe :  however,  she  brings 
provision  with  her  for  a  separate  maintenance. 
Antoine,  appretez  la  toilet,  i  am  going  to  spend 
a  cursed  day  ;  that  I  perceive  already  ;  1  wish 
it  was  over,  I  dread  it  as  much  as  a  general 
election.  [Eocit^  r.h. 

SCENE  n. — Changes  to  a  Study  in  Sir  John 
Flowerdale's  House  ;  two  Chairs  and  a  Table^ 
with  Globes  and  Mathematical  Instruments. 


Enter  Clarissa,  r.h. 


SONG. 

Immortal  powers  protect  me, 
j4ssist,  support,  direct  me  ; 

Relieve  a  heart  opprest  : 
Ah  !  why  this  palpitation  I 
Cease  busy  perturbation^ 

And  lei  me,  let  me  rest. 

Enter  Jenny,  r.h. 

Jen.  My  dear  lady,  what  ails  you  ? 

Cla.  Nothing,  Jenny,  nothing. 

Jen.  Pardon  me,  madam,  there  is  something 
ails  you  mdeed.  Lord,  what  signifies  all  the 
grandeur  and  riches  in  this  world,  if  they  can't 
procure  one  content.  I  am  sure  it  vexes  me  to 
the  heart,  so  it  does,  to  see  such  a  dear,  sweet 
worthy  young  lady,  as  you  are,  pining  yourself 
to  death. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  23 

Cla.  Jenny,  you  are  a  good  girl,  and  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  feeling  so  much 
on  my  account;  but  in  a  Httle  time,  I  hope  I 
shall  be  easier. 

Jen.  Why,  now,  here  to  day,  madam,  for  sar- 
tain  you  ought  to  be  merry  to  day,  when  there's 
a  fine  gentleman  coming  to  court  you  ;  but,  if 
you  hke  any  one  else  better,  I  am  sure,  1  wish 
you  had  him,  with  all  my  soul. 

Cla.  Suppose,  Jenny,  I  was  so  unfortunate,  as 
to  like  a  man  without  my  father's  approbation  ; 
would  you  wish  me  married  to  him  ? 

Jen.  I  wish  you  married  to  any  one,  madam, 
that  could  make  you  happy. 

Cla.  Heigho  !  (^Crosses  to  r.h.) 

Jen.  Madam  !  madam  !  yonder's  sir  John  and 
Mr.  Lionel  on  the  terrace  :  I  believe  they  are 
coming  up  here.  Poor,  dear  Mr.  Lionel,  he 
does  not  seem  to  be  in  over  great  spirits  either. 
To  be  sure,  madam,  its  no  business  of  mine  ; 
but,  I  believe,  if  the  truth  was  known,  there 
are  those  in  the  house,  who  wouM  give  more 
than  ever  I  shall  be  worth,  or  any  the  likes  of 
me,  to  prevent  the  marriage  of  a  sartain  person 
that  shall  be  nameless. 

Cla.  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  don't  understand 
you. 

Jen.  I  hope  you  are  not  angry,  madam  ? 

Cla.  Ah  !  Jenny — 

Jen.  Lauk  madam,  do  you  think,  w^hen  Mr. 
Lionel's  a  clergyman,  he'll  be  obliged  to  cut  oflf 
his  hair  ?  I'm  sure  it  will  be  a  thousand  pities ; 
and  your  great  pudding-sleeves  ! — Lord,  they'll 


24  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSx\. 

quite  spoil  his  shape,  and  the  fall  of  his  should- 
ers !  Well,  madam,  if  I  was  a  lady  of  large  for- 
tune, rU  be  hanged  if  Mr.  Lionel  should  be  a 
parson,  if  I  could  help  it. 

Cla.  I'm  going  into  my  dressing-room — It 
seems,  then,  Mr.  Lionel  is  a  great  favourite  of 
yours;  but,  pray  Jenny,  have  a  care  how  you 
talk  in  this  manner  to  any  one  else. 

Jen.  Me  talk !  madam,  I  thought  you  knew 
me  better;  and,  my  dear  lady,  keep  up  your 
spirits.  I'm  sure  I  have  dressed  you  to-day  as 
nice  as  hands  and  pins  can  make  you. 

SONG. 

Vm  but  a  poor  servant,  His  true,  ma*am; 
But  7vas  I  a  lady  like  you,  ma'' am. 

In  grief  ivould  I  sit ! — the  dickens  a  bit ; 
No  faith,  I  noidd  search  the  world  thro^  ma*amt 

To  find  what  my  liking  could  hit. 

Set  in  case  a  young  man. 
In  my  fancy  there  ran ; 
It  might  anger  my  friends  and  relations  : 
But,  if  I  had  regard. 
It  should  go  very  hard. 
Or  rd  follow  my  own  inclinations. 

[Exeunt,  r.f. 

Enter  Sir  John  Flowerdale,  and  Lionel,  l.h. 

Sir  J.  Indeed,  Lionel,  I  will  not  hear  of  it. 
What !  to  run  from  us  all  of  a  sudden,  this  way  ; 
and  at  such  a  time  too ;  the   eve  of  my  daugh- 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  25 

ter's  wedding,  as  I  may  call  it ;  when  your  com- 
pany must  be  doubly  agreeable,  as  well  as  ne- 
cessary to  us  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  no  studies 
at  present  that  require  your  attendance  at  Ox- 
ford :  I  must,  therefore,  insist  on  your  putting 
such  thoughts  out  of  your  head. 

Lio.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  have  been  so  long 
from  the  university,  that  it  is  time  for  me  to 
think  of  returning.  It  is  true,  I  Irave  no  abso- 
lute studies  ;  but  really,  sir,  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  you,  if  you  will  give  me  leave  to  go. 

Sir  J.  Come,  come,  my  dear  Lionel,  I  have 
for  some  time  observed  a  more  than  ordinary 
gravity  growing  upon  you,  and  I  am  not  to  learn 
the  reason  of  it :  I  know,  to  minds  serious,  and 
well  inclined,  like  yours,  the  sacred  functions 
you  are  about  to  embrace — 

Lio.  Dear  sir,  your  goodness  to  me,  of  every 
kind,  is  so  unmerited!  Your  condescension,  your 
friendly  attentions — in  short,  sir,  I  want  words  to 
express  my  sense  of  obligations — 

Sir  J.  Fie,  fie,  no  more  of  them.  By  my  last 
letters,  I  find  that  my  old  friend,  the  rector,  still 
continues  in  good  health,  considering  his  advanc- 
ed years.  You  may  imagine  1  am  far  from  de- 
siring the  death  of  so  worthy  and  pious  a  man ; 
jet,  I  must  own,  at  this  time,  I  could  wish  you 
were  in  orders,  as  you  might  then  perform  the 
■ceremony  of  my  daughter"'s  marriage  ;  which 
would  give  me  a  secret  satisfaction. 

Lio.  No  doubt,  sir,  any  office  in  my  power, 
that  could  be  instrumental  to   the  happiness  of 


26  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

any  in  your  family,  I  should  perform  with  plea- 
sure. 

Sir  J.  Why,  really,  Lionel,  from  the  character 
of  her  intended  husband,  I  have  no  room  to 
doubt,  but  this  match  will  make  Clarissa  per- 
fectly happy  :  to  be  sure,  the  alliance  is  the 
most  eligible  for  both  families. 

Lio.  If  the  gentleman  is  sensible  of  his  hap- 
piness in  the  alliance,  sir. 

Sir  J.  The  fondness  of  a  father  is  always  sus- 
pected of  partiality  ;  yet,  I  believe,  1  may  ven- 
ture to  say,  that  few  young  women  will  be  found 
more  unexceptionable  than  my  daughter :  her 
person  is  agreeable,  her  temper  sweet,  her  un- 
derstanding good ;  and,  with  the  obligations  she 
has  to  your  instructions — 

Lio.  You  do  my  endeavours  too  much  honour, 
sir.  I  have  been  able  to  add  nothing  to  Miss 
Flowerdale's  accomplishments. but  a  little  know- 
ledge in  matters  of  small  importance  to  a  mind 
already  so  well  improved. 

Sir  J.  I  don't  think  so ;  a  little  knowledge, 
even  in  those  matters,  is  necessary  for  a  woman, 
in  whom,  1  am  far  from  considering  ignorance 
as  a  desirable  characteristic  :  when  intelligence 
is  not  attended  with  impertinent  affectation,  it 
teaches  them  to  judge  with  precision,  and  gives 
them  a  degree  of  solidity  necessary  for  the  com- 
panion of  a  sensible  man. 

Lio.  Yonder's  Mr.  Jenkins  :  I  fancy  he's  look- 
mg  for  you,  sir. 

Sir  J.  I  see  him ;  he's  come  back  from 
Colonel  Oldboy's ;  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  27 

him ;  and  will  return  to  you  again  in   a  minute. 

[Exit,    L.H. 

Lio.  To  be  a  burthen  to  one's  self,  to  wage 
contmual  war  with  one's  own  passions,  forced  to 
combat,  unable  to  overcome  !  But  see,  she  ap- 
pears, whose  presence  turns  all  my  sufferings 
into  transport,  and  makes  even  misery  itself  de- 
lightful. 

Enter  Clarissa,  r.h. 

Perhaps,  madam,  you  are  not  at  leisure  now ; 
otherwise,  if  you  thought  proper,  we  would  re- 
sume the  subject  we  were  upon  yesterday. 

Cla.  I  am  sure,  sir,  I  give  you  a  great  deal  of 
trouble, 

Lio.  Madam,  you  give  me  no  trouble ;  I 
should  thinlc  every  hour  of  ray  life  happily  em- 
ployed in  your  service  ;  and  as  this  is  probably 
the  last  time  1  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  at- 
tending you  upon  the  same  occasion — 

Cla.  Upon  my  word,  Mr,  Lionel,  1  think  my- 
self extremely  obliged  to  you;  and  shall  ever 
consider  the  enjoyment  of  your  friendship — 

Lio.  My  friendship,  madam,  can  be  of  little 
moment  to  you  ;  but  if  the  most  perfect  adora- 
tion, if  the  warm»est  wishes  for  your  felicity, 
though  I  should  never  be  witness  of  it :  if  these, 
madam,  can  have  any  merit  to  continue  in  your 
remembrance,  a  man  once  honoured  with  a 
share  of  your  esteem — 

Cla.  Hold,  sir — 1  think  I  hear  somebody. 

Lio.  If  you  please,  madam,  we  will  resume 


28  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

OUT  studies. — {They  sit.) — Have  you  looked  at 
the  book  I  left  jou  yesterday? 

Cla.  Really,  sir,  I  have  been  so  much  disturb* 
ed  in  my  thoughts  for  these  two  or  three  days 
past,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  look  at  any- 
thing. 

Lio.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  madam  ;  I  hope 
there  was  nothing  particular  to  disturb  you. 
The  care  sir  John  takes  to  dispose  of  your  hand 
in  a  manner  suitable  to  your  birth  and  ibrtune. 

Cla.  I  don't  know,  sir ; — I  own  1  am  disturb- 
ed ;  I  own  I  am  uneasy  ;  there  is  something 
weighs  upon  my  heart,  which  I  would  fain  dis- 
close. 

Ldo.  Upon  jour  heart,  madam ;  did  you  say 
vour  heart  ? 

Cla.  I  did,  sir— I 

Enter  Jenny,  r.h. 

Jen.  Madam  !  madam  !  here's  a  coach  and  six- 
driving  up  the  avenue — It's  colonel  Oldboy's 
family — and,  I  believe,  the  gentleman  is  in  it 
that  s  coming  to  court  you — Lord,  I  must  run 
and  have  a  peep  at  him  out  of  the  window. 

[Exit,   R.H. 

Lio.  Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave. 

Cla.  Why  so,  sir  ? — Bless  me,  Mr.  Lionel ! 
what's  the  matter? — You  turn  pale. 

Lio.  Madam  ! 

Cla.  Pray  speak  to  me,  sir. — You  tremble. — 
Tell  me  the  cause  of  this  sudden  change. — How 
are  you?  Where's  your  disorder  ? 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  29 

Lio.  Oh,  fortune  !  fortune  I      {Crosses  to  r.h.) 


SONG. 

You  ask  me  in  vain^ 

Of  what  ills  I  complain, 
TVhere  harbours  the  torment  I  find; 

In  my  head,  in  my  heart. 

It  invades  evWy  part. 
And  subdues  both  my  body  and  mind. 

[Crosses  to  l.h.) 

Each  effort  I  try, 

Ev'ry  med'cine  apply, 
The  pangs  of  my  soul  to  appease ; 

But  doom'd  to  endure, 

What  I  mean  for  a  cure. 
Turns  poison,  and  feeds  the  disease. 

[Exit,  L.H. 

Eyiter  Diana,  r.h. 

Dia.  My  dear  Clarissa — I'm  glad  I  have  found 
you  alone.— For  heaven's  sake,  don't  let  any  one 
break  in  upon  us — and  give  me  leave  to  sit  down 
with  3^ou  a  little — I  am  in  such  a  tremour,  such 
a  panic — 

Cla.  Mercy   on  us,  what  has  happened? 

Dia.  You  may  remember  I  told  you,  that 
when  I  was  last  wmter  in  London,  I  was  follow- 
ed by  an  odious  fellow,  one  Harman  ;  I  can't  say 
but  the  wretch  pleased  me,  though  he  is  but  a 
younger  brother,  and  not  worth  sixpence — And, 
in  short,  when  I  was  leaving  town,  I  promised 
to  correspond  with  him. 
3* 


30  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Cla.  Do  you  think  that  was  prudent  ? 

Dia.  Madness !  But  this  is  not  the  worst,  for 
what  do  you  think,  the  creature  had  the  assur- 
ance to  write  to  me  about  three  weeks  ago,  de- 
siring permission  to  come  down  and  spend  the 
summer  at  my  father's. 

Cla.  At  your  father's  ! 

Dia.  Aye,  who  never  saw  him,  knows  nothing 
of  him,  and  would  as  soon  consent  to  my  marry- 
ing a  horse-jockey.  He  told  me  a  long  story  of 
some  tale  he  intended  to  invent,  to  make  my 
father  receive  him  as  an  indifferent  person  ;  and 
some  gentleman  in  London,  he  said,  would  pro- 
cure him  a  letter  that  should  give  it  a  face  ;  and 
he  longed  to  see  me  so,  he  said  he  could  not 
live  without  it ;  and  if  he  could  be  permitted 
but  to  spend  a  week  with  me — 

Cla.  Well,  and  what  answer  did  you  make  ? 

Dia.  Oh  !  abused  him,  and  retused  to  hsten 
to  any  such  thing — but — I  vow  I  tremble  while 
I  tell  it  you — just  before  we  left  our  house,  the 
impudent  monster  arrived  there,  attended  by  a 
couple  of  servants,  and  is  now  actually  coming 
here  with  my  father. 

Cla.  Upon  my  word,  this  is  a  dreadful  thing. 

Dia.  Dreadful,  my  dear  ! — I  happened  to  be 
at  the  window  as  he  came  into  the  court,  and  I 
declare  1  had  like  to  have  fainted  away. 

Cla.  Well,  Diana,  with  regard  to  your  affair 
— 1  think  you  must  find  some  method  of  imme- 
diately informing  this  gentleman,  that  you  consi- 
der the  outrage  he  has  committed  against  you  in 
the  most  heinous  hght,  and  insist  upon  his  going 
away  directly. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  d\ 

Dia.  Why,  1  believe  that  will  be  the  best 
way — but  then  he'll  be  begging  my  pardon,  and 
asking  to  stay. 

Cla.  Why  then  you  must  tell  him  positively 
you  won't  consent  to  it;  and  if  he  persists  in  so 
extravagant  a  design,  tell  him  you'll  never  se« 
him  again  as  long  as  you  live. 

Dia,  Must  I  tell  him  so  ? 


SONG. 

For  my  heart  beats  so  pit-pat  throbbing^ 
For  my  heart  beats  whenever  he^s  7iigh  ; 
Then  when  he  sues. 
Can  I  refuse 
To  hear  him  plead  ? — 
Not  I  indeed^ 
For  my  hearty  Sic. 

When  he  softly  sighs, 

And  I  meet  his  eyes^ 
So  well  their  meaning* s  understood  ; 

Cou'd  I  bid  him  go  7 

Ah  I  no,  no,  no, 
Pm  sure  I  could  not  if  I  would. 
For  my  heart,  &c. 

How  oft  have  I  tried. 

With  our  sex^s  pride 
And  scorn  his  love  to  treat ; 

But  agaiji  and  again, 

I  have  found  'twas  i;i  voi/i, 
He  talks  so  when  we  meet. 
Tho'  my  heart  &'C.  [Exit,  r.h. 


32  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Cla.  How  easy  to  direct  the  conduct  of  oth- 
ers— how  hard  to  regulate  our  own  ! — I  can  give 
my  friend  advice,  while  I  am  conscious  of  the 
same  indiscretions  in  myself  Yet  is  it  criminal 
to  know  the  most  worthy,  most  amiable  man  in 
the  world,  and  not  to  be  insensible  to  his  merit  ? 
But  my  father,  the  kindest,  best  of  fathers — will 
he  approve  the  choice  I  have  made  ?  Nay,  has 
he  not  made  another  choice  for  me  ?  And,  after 
all,  how  can  I  be  sure  that  the  man  I  love,  loves 
me  again  ?  He  never  told  me  so  ;  but  his  looks, 
his  actions, his  present  anxiety  sufficiently  declare 
what  his  delicacy,  his  generosity,  will  not  suffer 
him  to  utter. — 

SONG. 

Ye  gloomy  thoughts^  ye,  fears  perverse, 
Like  sullen  vapours  all  disperse, 
And  scatter  in  the  wind. 

Delusive  phantoms,  brood  of  night. 
No  more  my  sickly  fancy  fright. 
No  more  my  reason  blind. 

^Tisdone;  I  feel  my  soul  released; 
The  visions  fly,  the  inists  are  chased. 
Nor  leave  a  cloud  behind. 

[Exit^  R.H. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  33 

SCENE  IV. — Changes  to  a  Side  Fiezv  of  Sir 
John  Flowerdale's  House ^  iviih  Gates ^  and  a 
Prospect  of  the  Garden. 

Harman  enters  ixith  Colonel  Oldboy,  R.h. 

Col.  Well,  and  how  does  my  old  friend  Dick 
Ilantum  do  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  these  twelve 
years:  he  was  an  honest  worthy  fellow  as  ever 
breathed ;  I  remember  he  kept  a  girl  in  Lon- 
don, and  was  cursedly  plagued  by  his  wile's  re- 
lations. 

Har.  Sir  Richard  was  always  a  man  of  spirit, 
colonel. 

Col.  But  as  to  this  business  of  yours,  which 
he  tells  me  of  in  his  letter — 1  don't  see  much  in 
it — an  affair  with  a  citizen's  daughter — pinked 
her  brother  in  a  duel — Is  the  fellow  likely  to 
die? 

Har.  Why,  sir,  we  hope  not  ;  but  as  the  mat- 
ter is  dubious,  and  will  probably  make  some 
floise,  I  thought  it  was  better  to  be  for  a  little 
time  out  of  the  way  ;  when  hearing  my  case  sir 
Richard  Rantum  mentioned  you ;  he  said,  he 
was  sure  you  would  permit  me  to  remain  at 
your  house  for  a  few  days,  and  offered  me  a  re- 
commendation. 

Col.  And  there's  likely  to  be  a  brat  in  the 
case — and  the  girFs  friends  are  in  business — Fll 
tell  you  what  will  be  the  consequence  then — 
they  will  be  for  going  to  law  with  you  for  a 
maintenance — but  no  matter,  Y\\  take  the  affair 


34  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

in  hand  for  you — make  me  your  solicitor  ;  and, 
if  you  are  obliged  to  pay  for  a  single  spoonful 
of  pap,  I'll  be  content  to  father  all  the  children 
in  the  foundling  hospital. 

Har.  You  are  very  kind,  sir. 

Col.  But  hold — hark  you — ^you  say  there's 
money  to  be  had — suppose  you  were  to  marry 
the  wench  ? 

Har.  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  would  be  so  right 
after  what  has  happened?  Besides,  there's  a 
strong  objection — To  tell  you  the  truth,  1  am 
honourably  in  love  in  another  place. 

Col.  Oh  !  you  are. 

Har.  Yes,  sir,  but  there  are  obstacles — a  fa- 
ther— in  short,  sir,  the  mistress  of  my  heart 
lives  in  this  very  county,  which  makes  even 
my  present  situation  a  little  irksome. 

Col.  In  this  county !  Zounds!  then!  am  sure 
I  am  acquainted  with  her,  and  the  first  letter  of 
her  name  is 

Har.  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  have  some  particular 
reasons 

Col.  But  look  who  comes  yonder — Ha !  ha  ! 
ha !  My  son,  picking  his  steps  like  a  dancing- 
master.  Pr'ythee,  Harman,  go  into  the  house, 
and  let  my  wife  and  daughter  know  we  are 
come,  while  I  go  and  have  some  sport  with  him  : 
they  will  introduce  you  to  sir  John  Flowerdale. 

Har.  Then,  sir,  I'll  take  the  liberty — 

Col.  But.  d'ye  hear,  1  must  have  a  little  more 
discourse  with  you  about  this  girl ;  perhaps  she's 
a  neighbour  of  mine,  and  1  may  be  of  service  to 
you. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  35 

Har.  Well,  remember,  colonel,  1  shall  try  your 
friendship.  "  [ExiU  l.h.u.e. 

SONG.* 

Indulgent  powers,  if  ever 
You  marked  a  tender  von\ 

0  bend  m  kind  compassion, 
And  hear  a  lover  now  : 

For  titles,  rveallh,  and  honours. 
While  others  crowd  your  shrine  ; 

1  ask  (his  only  blessing. 

Let  her  I  love  be  mine. 

[Exit  Harman^  l.h.u.e. 

Enter  Mr.  Jessamy,  and  several  Servants,  r.h. 

Col.  Why,  zounds  !  one  would  think  you  had 
never  put  your  feet  to  the  ground  before  ;  you 
make  as  much  work  about  walking  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  as  if  you  had  gone  a  pilgrimage  to  Je- 
rusalem. 

Mr.  Jes.  Colonel,  you  have  used  me  extreme- 
ly ill,  to  drag  me  through  the  dirty  roads  in  this 
manner ;  you  told  me  the  way  was  all  over  a  bowl- 
ing green  ;  only  see  what  a  condition  I  am  in. 

Col  Why,  how  did  I  know  the  roads  were 
dirty?  Is  that  my  fault?  Besides,  we  mistook 
the  way.  Zounds,  man,  your  legs  will  be  never 
the  worse  whpn  they  are  brushed  a  little. 

*  This  song  is  generally  omitted,  and  "  Oh,  never  doubt 
my  lovcP  or  any  other  popular  song  substituted. 


36  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Mr.  Jes.  Antoine  I  have  you  sent  La  Roque 
for  the  shoes  and  stockings?  give  me  the  glas? 
out  of  your  pocket — not  a  dust  of  powder  left 
in  my  hair,  and  the  frissure  as  flat  as  the  fore- 
top  of  an  attorney's  clerk — get  your  comb  and 
pomatum  ;  you  must  borrow  some  powder  ?  I 
suppose  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  dressing-room 
in  the  house  ? 

Col.  Aye,  and  a  cellar  too,  I  hope,  for  I  want 
a  glass  of  wine  cursedly-but,  hold  !  hold  I  Frank, 
where   are  you  going?  Stay,  and   pay  your  de 
voirs  here,   if  you   please ;  I  see  there's  some 
body  coming  out  to  welcome  us. 

Entcj'  Lionel,  Diana,  and  Clarissa,  l.h.u.e. 

Lio.  Colonel,  your  most  obedient;  sir  John  is 
walking  with  my  lady  in  the  garden,  and  has 
commissioned  me  to  receive  you. 

Col.  Mr.  Lionel,  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see 
you — come  here,  Frank — this  is  my  son,  sir. 

Lio.  Sir,  I   am  exceeding  proud  to — 

Jk/r.  Jes.  Can't  you  get  the  powder  then  ? 

Col.  Miss  Clary,  My  little  Miss  Clary — give 
me  a  kiss  my  dear — as  handsome  as  an  angel, 
by  heavens— Frank,  why  don't  you  come  here? 
this  is  Miss  Flowerdale. 

Dio.  Oh  heavens,  Clarissa!  just  as  I  said,  that 
Impudent  devil  is  come  here  with  my  father. 

Mr.  Jes.  Had'nt  we  better  go  into  the  house  ? 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  37 

QUINTETTO. 

Mr.  Jes.  To  be  made  in  svch  a  pickh  ! 

Will  you  please  to  lead  the  nay,  sir  7 
Col.         No,  butt  if  you  please,  you  may  sir^ 

For  precedence  none  will  stickle. 
Via.        Brother^  no  politeness  ?  bless  me  7 

Will  you  not  your  hand  bestow  7 

Lead  the  lady. 
Cla.  Don't  distress  me ; 

Dear  Diana  let  him  go. 
Mr.  Jes.  Ma* am  permit  me. 
Col.  Smoke  the  beau. 

Cruel  must  I,  can  I  bear ; 
Lio.  ^     Oh  adverse  stars  ! 

and  >  Oh  fate  severe  ! 

Cla.  3      Besety  tormented. 

Each  hope  prevented. 
Col.         None  but  the  brave  deserve  thefair^ 

Come  ma*ain  let  me  lead  you  : 

iVow,  sir,  I  precede  you. 
All.         Lovers  must  ill  usage  bear. 

Oh  adverse  stars  !  oh  fate  severe  7 

None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair. 

[Exeunt,  l.h. 


38  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 


ACT  H. 

SCENE  L — ^i  hall,  in  Sir  John  Flowerdaleh 
house,  with  the  view  of  a  grand  stair-case,  through 
an  arch.  On  either  side  of  the  stair-case  below^ 
two  doors,  leading  from  different  apartments. 

Enter  Lionel  follozved  by  Jenny,  r.h. 

Jen.  Well,  but  Mr.  Lionel,  consider,  pray  con- 
sider now ;  how  can  you  be  so  prodigious  un- 
discreet  as  you  are,  walking  about  the  hall  here, 
while  the  gentlefolks  are  within  in  the  parlour  ! 
Don't  you  think  they'll  wonder  at  your  getting 
up  ?o  soon  after  dinner,  and  before  any  of  the 
rest  of  the  company  ? 

Lio.  For  heaven's  sake  Jenny,  don't  speak  to 
me :  I  neither  know  where  I  am,  nor  what  I  am 
doing ;  I  am  the  most  wretched  and  miserable 
of  mankind. 

Jen.  Poor  dear  soul,  I  pity  you.  Yes,  yeis,  I 
believe  you  are  miserable  enough  indeed  ;  and 
I  assure  you,  I  have  pitied  you  a  great  while, 
and  spoke  many  a  word  in  your  favour,  when  you 
little  thought  you  had  such  a  friend  in  a  corner. 
Lio.  But,  good  Jenny,  since,  by  some  accident 
or  other,  you  have  been  able  to  discover  what 
I  would  willingly  hide  from  all  the  world  ;  I 
conjure  you,  as  you  regard  my  interest,  as  you 
value  your  lady's  peace  and  honour,  never  let 
the  most  distant  hint  of  it  escape  you ;  for  it  is 
a  secret  of  that  importance — 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  39 

Jen.  And,  perhaps,  you  think  I  canH  keep  a 
secret,  Ah  !  Mr.  Lionel,  it  must  be  hear,  see, 
and  say  nothing  in  this  world,  or  one  has  no 
business  to  live  in  it ;  besides  who  would  not  be 
in  love  with  my  lady  ?  Ihere-s  never  a  man 
this  day  alive  but  might  be  proud  of  it ;  for  she 
is  the  handsomest  sweetest  temperdest !  And  I 
am  sure  one  of  the  best  mistresses,  ever  poor 
girl  had. 

Lio.  Oh,  Jenny  ;  she's  an  angel ! 
Jen.  And  so  she  is  indeed. — Do  you  know  that 
she  gave  me  her  blue  silk  gown  to-day,  and  it  is 
every  crum  as  good  as  new  ;  and,  go  things  as 
they  will,  don't  you  be  fretting  and  vexing  your- 
self, for  I  am  mortally  sartin  she  would  liverer 
see  a  toad  than  this  Jessamy.  Though  J  must 
say,  to  my  thinking,  he's  a  very  likely  man ; 
and,  a  tiner  pair  of  eye-brows,  and  a  more  deli- 
cate nose  I  never  saw  on  a  face. 
Lio.  By  heavens  I  shall  run  mad. 
Jen.  And  why  so  ?  It  is  not  beauty  that  al- 
ways takes  the  fancy  :  moreover,  to  let  you 
know,  if  it  was,  I  don't  think  him  any  more  to 
compare  to  you,  than  a  thistle  is  to  carnation  : 
and  so's  a  sign  ;  for,  mark  my  words,  my  lady 
loves  you,  as  much  as  she  hates  him. 

Lio.  What  you  tell  me  Jenny,  is  a  thing  I 
neither  merit  nor  expect:  No,  I  am  unhappy 
and  let  me  continue  so  ;  my  most  presumptuous 
thoughts  shall  never  carry  me  to  a  wish  that 
may  affect  her  quiet,  or  give  her  cause  to  re- 
pent. 


40  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Jen.  That's  very  honourable  of  you  I  must 
needs  say !  but  for  all  that,  liking's  liking,  and 
one  can't  help  it ;  and,  if  it  should  be  my  lady's 
case  it  is  no  fault  of  yours,  1  am  sure  when  she 
called  me  into  her  dressing-room,  before  she  went 
down  to  dinner,  there  she  stood  with  her  eyes 
brim-full  of  tears  ;  and  so  I  fell  a  crying  for 
company,  and  then  she  could  not  abide  the  chap 
in  the  parlour;  and  at  the  same  time  she  bid 
me  take  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  you,  and  de- 
sire you  to  meet  her  in  the  garden  this  evenmg 
after  tea ;  for  she  has  something  to  say  to  you. 

Lio.  Jenny,  I  see  you  are  my  friend ;  for 
which  \  thank  you,  though  1  know  it  is  impos- 
sible to  do  me  any  service  ;  take  this  ring  and 
wear  it  for  my  sake. 

Jen  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  your  honour; 
I  am  your  friend  indeed — but,  I  say,  you  won't 
forget  to  be  in  the  garden  now ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  keep  as  little  in  the  house  as  you  can, 
for  walls  have  eyes  and  ears  ;  and  I  can  tell  you 
the  servants  take  notice  of  your  uneasiness, 
though  1  am  always  desiring  them  to  mind  their 
own  business. 

Lio.  Fray  have  a  care  Jenny,  have  a  care  my 
dear  girl,  a  word  may  breed  suspicion, 

Jen.  Psha !  have  a  care  yourself;  it  is  you 
that  breeds  suspicion,  sighing  and  pining 
about;  you  look  for  all  the  world  like  a  ghost; 
and  if  you  don't  pluck  up  your  spirits  you  will 
be  a  ghost  soon  ;  letting  things  get  the  better  of 
you.  Though  to  be  sure  when  I  thinks  with 
myself,  bein^  crossed  in  love  is  a  terrible  thing— 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  41 

There  was  a  youn^  man  in  the  town  where  I 
was  born  made  away  with  himself  upon  the 
account  of  it. 

Lie.  Things  shan't  get  the  better  of  me, 
Jenny. 

Jen.  No  more  they  don't  ought.  And  once 
again  I  say  fortune  is  thrown  in  your  dish,  and 
you  are  not  to  fling  it  out ;  my  lady's  estate 
will  be  better  than  three  livings  if  sir  John 
could  give  them  to  you.  Think  of  that  Mr. 
Lionel,  think  of  that. 

Lio.  Think  of  what  ? 

SONG. 

Oh  talk  not  to  me  of  the  rvealth  she  possesses. 
My  hopes  and  my  views  to  herself  J  confine ; 
Ihe  splendour  of  riches  but  slightly  impresses 
A  heart  that  is  fraught  with  a  passion  like  mine. 

By  love^  only  love,  should  our  souls  be  cemented  ; 
No  interest,  no  motive,  but  that  would  I  own ; 
With  her  in  a  cottage  be  blest  and  contented  ; 
And  wretched  without  her,  tho'  placed  on  a  throne. 

[Exit^  L.u. 


Enter  Colonel  Oldboy 


Col.  Very  well,  my  lady,  I'll  come  again  to 
you  presently,  I  am  only  going  into  the  garden 
for  a  mouthful  of  air.  Aha  !  my  little  Abigail  I 
Here  Molly,  Jenny,  Betty  !  What's  your  name  ? 
Why  don't  you  answer  me,  hussy,  when  1  call 
you? 


42  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Jen.  If  you  want  any  thing,  sir,  I'll  call  one 
of  the  footmen. 

Col.  The  footmen  !  the  footmen  !  Damn  me, 
I  never  knew  one  of  them,  in  my  life^  that 
wouldn't  prefer  a  rascal  to  a  gentleman — Come 
here,  you  slut,  put  your  hands  about  ray  neck 
and  kiss  me. 

Jen.  Who,  I  sir  ? 

Col.  Aye,  here's  money  for  you  ;  what  the 
devil  are  you  afraid  of?  I'll  take  you  into  keep- 
ing ;  you  shall  go  and  live  at  one  of  my  tenant's 
houses. 

Jen.  I  wonder  you  aren't  ashamed,  sir,  to 
make  an  honest  girl  any  such  proposal ;  you 
that  have  a  worthy  gentlewoman,  nay  a  lady  of 
your  own. — To  be  sure  she's  a  little  stricken  in 
years :  but  why  shouldn't  she  grow  elderly  as 
well  as  yourself? 

Col.  Burn  a  lady,  1  love  a  pretty  girl — 

Jen.  Well,  then  you  may  go  look  for  one,  sir, 
I  have  no  pretensions  to  the  title. 

Col.  Why,  you  pert  baggage  you  don't  know 
me. 

Jen.  What  do  you  pinch  my  fingers  for  ? 
yes,  yes,  I  know  you  well  enough,  and  your 
charekter's  well  known  all  over  the  country, 
running  after  poor  young  creatures  as  you  do, 
to  ruinate  them. 

Col.  What,  then  people  say — 

Jen.  Indeed,  they  talk  very  bad  of  you  ;  and 
whatever  you  may  think,  sir,  though  I'm  in  a 
menial  station,  I'm  come  of  people  that  wou'd'nt 
see  me  put  upon  ;  there  are  those  that  wou'd 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  43 

take  my  part  against  the  proudest  he  in  the 
land,  that  should  offer  any  thing  uncivil. 

Col.  Well,  come,  let  me  know  now,  how 
does  your  young  lady  like  my  son? 

Jen.  You  want  to  pump  me  do  you  !  I  suppose 
you  would  know  whether  I  can  keep  my  tongue 
within  my  teeth. 

Col.  She  does'nt  like  him  then  ? 

Jen.  I  don't  say  so,  sir — Isn't  this  a  shame 
now — I  suppose  to-morrow  or  next  day  it  will 
be  reported  that  Jenny  has  been  talking,  Jenny 
said  that,  and  t'other — But  here,  sir,  I  ax  you, 
did  I  tell  you  any  such  thing  ? 

CoL  Why  yes,  you  did. 

Jen,  I  ! — Lord  bless  me,  how  can  you — 

Col.  Ad  I'll  mouzle  you. 

Jen.  Ah  !  ah  ! 

Col.  What  do  you  bawl  for  ? 

Jen.  Ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 


SONG. 

Indeeds  forsooth,  a  pretty  youths 
To  play  the  am'rovsfool; 

At  such  an  age,  methinks  your  rage 
Might  be  a  little  cool. 

Fie,  Ift  me  go,  sir, 
Jf'ss  me  I — Nn,  no,  sir. 
You  pull  me  and  shake  me. 
For  rvhat  do  you  take  me. 
This  figure  to  make  me  ? 


44  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Pd  have  you  to  know 
I'm  not  for  your  game,  sir ; 
Nor  will  I  be  tame,  sir. 
Lord,  have  you  no  shame,  sir. 

To  tumble  one  so  ? 

\F,xit^  R.H. 

EnU.r  Lady  Mary,  Diana,  and  Harman,  l.h. 

Lady  M.  Mr.  Oldboy,  won't  you  give  me 
your  hand  to  lead  me  up  stairs,  my  dear  ? — Sir, 
i  am  prodigiously  obliged  to  you  :  I  protest  I 
have  not  been  so  well,  I  don't  know  when  : 
I  have  had  no  return  of  my  bilious  complaint 
after  dinner  to-day ;  and  eat  so  voraciously ! 
Did  you  observe  Miss  ?  Doctor  Arsnic  will  be 
quite  astonished  when  he  hears  it ;  surely  his 
new  invented  medicine  has  done  me  a  prodigious 
deal  of  service. 

Col  Ah !  you'll  always  be  taking  one  slop  or 
other  till  you  poison  yourself. — Give  me  a  pinch 
of  your  ladyship's  snuff. 

JLady  M.  This  is  a  mighty  pretty  sort  of  man, 
colonel,  who  is  he  ! 

Col  A  young  fellow,  my  lady,  recommended 
to  me. 

Lady  M.  I  protest  he  has  the  sweetest  taste 
for  poetry  ! — He  has  repeated  to  me  two  or 
three  of  his  own  things  ;  and  I  have  been  telling 
him  of  the  poem  my  late  brother  lord  Jessamy 
made  on  the  mouse  that  was  drowned. 

Col  Aye,  a  fine  subject  for  a  poem  ;  a  mouse 
that  was  drowned  in  a— ^ 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  45 

Lady  M.  Hush,  my  dear  colonel,  don't  men- 
tion it ;  to  be  sure  the  circumstance  was  vastly 
indelicate  ;  but  for  the  number  of  lines,  the 
poem  was  as  charming  a  morsel — Pray,  sir  was 
there  any  news  when  you  left  London  ;  any 
thing  about  the  East  Indies,  the  ministry,  or 
politics  of  any  kind  ?  1  am  strangely  fond  of 
politics ;  but  I  hear  nothing  since  my  lord 
Jessamy's  death  ;  he  used  to  write  to  me  all  the 
affairs  of  the  nation,  for  he  was  a  very  great 
politician  himself.  I  have  a  manuscript  speech 
of  his  in  my  cabinet — He  never  spoke  it,  but  it 
is  as  fine  a  thing  as  ever  came  from  man  ? 

Col.  What  IS  that  crawhng  on  your  ladyship's 
petticoat  ? 

Lady  M.  Where  I   Where  ! 

Col.  Zounds !  a  spider  with  legs  as  long  as 
my  arm. 

Lady  M   Oh  heavens  I  ah  don't  let  me  look 

at  it ;  I  shall  faint,  I  shall  faint !   A  spider  I   a 

spider  !  a  spider  !    {^Runs  off^  l.h. — Har.  attempts 

to  follow  her^  the  Col.  prevents  him. 

Col.  Hold  ;  zounds,  let  her  go  ;  1  knew  the 
spider  would  set  her  a  galloping,  with  her 
daran'd  fuss  about  her  brother,  my  lord  Jessamy. 
— Harman,  come  here. — How  do  you  like  my 
daughter  ?  Is  the  girl  you  are  in  love  with  as 
handsome  as  this  ? 

Har.  In  my  opinion,  sir. 

Col.  What,  as  handsome  as  Dy  I — I'll  lay  you 
twenty  pounds  she  has  not  such  a  pair  of  eyes. 
— He  tells  me  he's  in  love,  Dy  ;  raging  mad  for 
love  ;  and,  by  his  talk,  I  begin  to  believe  him 


46  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Dia.  Now,  for  my  part,  papa,  1  doubt  it  very 
much  ;  though,  by  what  1  heard  the  gentleman 
say  just  now  within,  I  find  he  imagines  the  lady 
has  a  violent  partiality  for  him  ;  and  yet  he  may 
be  mistaken  there  too. 

Col  For  shame,  Dy,  what  the  mischief  do 
you  mean  ?  How  can  you  talk  so  tartly  to  a 
poor  young  fellow  under  misfortunes  !  Give  him 
your  hand,  and  ask  his  pardon. — Don  t  mind 
her,  Harnmn. — For  all  this,  she  is  as  good- 
natur'd  a  little  devil  as  ever  was  born. 

Har.  You  may  remember,  sir,  1  told  you 
before  dinner,  that  I  had  for  some  time  carried 
on  a  private  correspondence  with  my  lovely 
girl ;  and  that  her  father,  whose  consent  we 
despair  of  obtaining,  is  the  great  obstacle  to  our 
happiness. 

Col  Why  don't  you  carry  her  off  in  spite  of 
him,  then  ? — I  ran  away  with  my  wife — ask  my 
lady  Mary,  she'll  tell  you  the  thing  herself. — 
Her  old  conceited  lord  of  a  father  thought  I 
was  not  good  enough  ;  but  1  mounted  a  garden- 
wall,  notwithstanding  their  chevaux-de-frize  of 
broken  glass  bottles,  took  her  out  of  a  three 
pair  of  stairs  window,  and  brought  her  down  a 
ladder  in  my  arms — By  the  way,  she  would  have 
squeezed  through  a  cat-hole  to  get  at  me. — 
And  I  would  have  taken  her  out  of  the  tower  of 
London,  damme,  if  it  had  been  surrounded  with 
the  three  regiments  of  guards. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  47 


SONG. 

*Twas  on  a  dismal  night, 
When  scarce  a  star  gave  lights 
j4nd  that  hail  came  rattling  down, 
With  pepperi7ig  on  my  crown. 

That  I  resolved  upon  a  matter. 
The  matter  was  oflove^ 
And  I  asjierce  as  Jove  ; 
But  my  charmer  was  lock't  up. 
At  a  castle's  very  top 

Yet  I  hadjix'd  to  be  at  her. 

A  whistle  then  was  mine. 
My  fair-one  knew  the  sign — 
And  directly  to  my  hopes. 
Threw  a  Ictdder  down  of  ropes ; 

When  I  mount  without  delay ^  sir  : 
And  when  1  got  on  high, 
And  did  my  charmer  spy, 
J  took  her  in  my  arm, 
And  descended  without  harm. 

And  carried  off,  owray,  sir, 

Dia.  But  surely,  papa,  you  would  not  persuade 
the  gentleman  to  such  a  proceeding  as  this  is  ; 
consider  the  noise  it  will  make  in  the  country  ; 
and  if  you  are  known  to  be  the  adviser  and  abet- 
tor— 

Col.  Why,  what  do  I  care  ?  I  say,  if  he  takes 
my  advice  he'll  run  away  with  her,  and  I'll  give 
him  all  the  assistance  I  can. 

Har.  I  am  sure,  sir,  you  are  very  kind  ;  and, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  more  than  once  had 


48  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

the  very  scheme  in  my  head,  if  I  thought  it  wai 
feasible,  and  knew  how  to  go  about  it. 

Col.  Feasible,  and  knew  how  to  go  about  it ! 
The  thing's  feasible  enough,  if  the  girl's  willing 
to  go  off  with  you,  and  you  have  spirit  sufficient 
to  undertake  it. 

Har    O,  as  for  that  sir,  I  can  answer. 

Dia.  What,  sir,  that  the  lady  will  be  willing 
to  go  off  with  you  ? 

Har.  No,  ma'am,  that  I  have  spirit  enough  to 
take  her,  if  she  is  willing  to  go ;  and  thus  far  I 
dare  venture  to  promise,  that  between  this  and 
to-morrow  morning  1  will  find  out  whether  she  is 
or  not. 

Col.  So  he  may ;  she  lives  but  in  this  county ; 
and  tell  her,  Harman,  you  have  met  with  a 
friend,  who  is  inclined  to  serve  you.  You  shall 
have  my  post-chaise  at  a  minute's  warning ;  and 
if  a  hundred  pieces  will  be  of  any  use  to  you, 
you  may  command  'em. 

Har.  And  you  are  really  serious,  sir  ? 

Col  Serious,  damme  if  I  an't.  1  have  put 
twenty  young  fellows  in  the  way  of  getting  girls 
that  they  never  would  have  thought  of:  and 
bring  her  to  ray  house  ;  whenever  you  come 
you  shall  have  a  supper  and  a  bed  ;  but  you 
must  marry  her  first,  because  my  lady  will  be 
squeamish. 

Dia.  Well,  but,  my  dear  papa,  upon  my  word 
you  have  a  great  deal  to  answer  for:  suppose  it 
was  your  own  case  to  have  a  daughter  in  such 
circumstances,  would  you  be  obliged  to  any 
one — 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  49 

Col.  Hold  jour  tongue,  hussy,  who  bid  you 
put  in  your  oar  ?  However,  Harman,  1  don't 
want  to  set  you  upon  anything  :  'tis  no  affair  of 
mine  to  be  sure  ;  I  only  give  you  advice,  and  tell 
you  how  I  would  act  if  1  was  in  your  place. 

Har.  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  am  quite  charmed 
with  the  advice;  and  since  you  are  ready  to 
stand  my  friend,  I  am  determined  to  follow  it. 

Col.  You  are — 

Har.  Positively — 

Col.  Say  no  more  then  ;  here's  my  hand  : — 
you  understand  me — no  occasion  to  talk  any  fur- 
ther of  it  at  present — When  we  are  alone — Dy, 
take  Mr.  Harman  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
give  him  some  tea. — I  say,  Harman,  mum. — 

Dia.   You  had  better  not  give  this  advice. 

Col.  Hold  your  tongue,  hussy — Harman,  if 
you  don't  carry  her  off,  you  dog,  I'll  never  for- 
give you.  [Exit^  R.H. 

SONG. 

O  never  doubt  my  love,  thy  sorrotvs  Fit  banisht 

And  sweetly  Fit  sing  while  the  night  Jties  away^ 
And  e'er   the  wild  gloom  o*er  the  mountain  shall 
vanish^ 
Thou' It  sink  on  my  pillow  and  sleep  till  the  day. 
O  never  doubt  my  love^  S{c. 

O  never  doubt  my  love,  its  fondness  shall  bless  thee, 
'Twill  soothe  thee  whene'er  by  this  rude  world  op- 
pressed ; 

And  should  the  cold  hand  of  misfortune  e'er  press 
thee, 

& 


50  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

The  angel  qfpily  tkouHfJind  in  my  breast. 
O  never  doubt  my  love,  &fc. 

[Exeunt,  l.h. 

SCENE  IL — Changes  to  a  handsome  Dressing- 
roomy  supposed  to  be  Clarissa''s  On  one  side, 
between  the  wings,  is  a  table  with  a  glass,  boxes, 
and  two  chairs. 

Enter  Dix^ a,  followed  by  Jessamv,  r.h. 

Dia.  Come,  brother,  I  undertake  to  be  mis- 
tress of  the  ceremony  upon  this  occasiom,  and 

introduce  you    to   your   first    audience. Miss 

Flowerdale  is  not  here,  I  perceive  ;  but  no  mat- 
ter.— 

Mr.  Jes.  Upon  my  word,  a  pretty  elegant 
dressing-room  this ;  but  confound  our  builders, 
or  architects,  as  they  call  themselves,  they  are 
all  errant  stone-masons  ;  not  one  of  them  know 
the  situation  of  doors,  windows,  or  chimnies  ; 
which  are  as  essential  to  a  room  as  eyes,  nose, 
and  mouth  to  a  countenance.  Now,  if  the  eyes 
are  where  the  mouth  should  be,  and  the  nose 
out  of  proportion  and  its  place,  quel  horrible  phi- 
siognomie. 

Dia.  My  dear  brother,  you  are  not  come  here 
as  a  virtuoso  to  admire  the  temple  ;  but  as  a 
votary  to  address  the  deity  to  whom  it  belongs. 
Show,  I  beseech  you,  a  little  more  devotion,  and 
tell  me,  how  do  you  like  Miss  Flowerdale  ?  don't 
vou  think  her  very  handsome  ? 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSi^.  b\ 

Mr.  Jes.  Pale: — but  that  I  am  determined  she 
shall  remedy  ;  for,  as  soon  as  we  are  married,  I 
will  make  her  put  on  rouge: — Let  me  see: — 
has  she  got  any  in  her  boxes  here  ?  Veritable  toi- 
let a  la  Angioi^e.  Nothmg  but  a  bottle  of  Hun- 
gary-water, two  or  three  rows  of  pins,  a  paper 
of  patches,  and  a  little  bole-armoniac  by  way  of 
tooth-powder. 

Dia.  Brother,  I  would  fain  give  you  some  ad- 
vice upon  this  occasion,  which  may  be  of  service 
to  you :  You  are  now  going  to  entertain  a  young 
Jady — Let  me  prevail  upon  you  to  lay  aside  those 
airs,  on  account  of  which  some  people  are  im- 
pertinent enough  to  call  you  a  coxcomb ;  for,  I 
am  atraid,  she  may  be  apt  to  thmk  you  a  cox- 
comb too,  as  I  assure  you  she  is  very  capable  of 
distinguishing. 

Mr.  Jes.  So  much  the  worse  for  me. — If  she 
is  capable  of  distmguishing,  I  shall  meet  with  a 
terrible  repulse.  1  don't  believe  she'll  have 
me. 

Dia.  I  don't  believe  she  will,  indeed. 
Mr.  Jes.  Go  on,  sister, — ha,  ha,  ha. 
Dia.  I  protest  1  am  serious — Though,  I  per- 
ceive, you  have  more  faith  in  the  counsellor  be- 
fore you  there,  the  looking-glass.  Eut  give  me 
leave  to  tell  you,  it  is  not  a  powder'd  head,  a 
lac'd  coat,  a  grimace,  a  shrug,  a  bow,  or  a  few 
pert  phrases,  learnt  by  rote,  that  constitute  the 
power  of  pleasing  all  women. 

Mr.  Jes.  You  had  better  return  to  the  gentle- 
man and  give  him  his  tea,  my  dear. 

Dia.  Ihese  qualifications  we  find  in  our  par- 
rots and  monkies.     I  would  undertake  to  teach 


mr 


62  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Poll,  in  three  weeks,  the  fashionable  jargon  of 
half  the  fine  men  about  town  ;  and  1  am  sure  it 
must  be  allowed,  that  pug,  in  a  scarlet  coat,  is  a 
gentleman  as  degage  and  alluring  as  most  of 
them. 

SONG.* 

Gond  folks  would  you  know, 
How  to  make  up  a  beau, 

Here^s  one  ready  made  to  your  view, 
His  hair  he  must  crop, 
jind  to  finish  the  fop. 
Waistcoat.,  red,  yellow  or  blue. 
To  use  an  eye-glass,  is  a  very  good  plan, 
For  it  makes  a  beau  almost  as  big  as  a  man. 

Then  his  opera  hat. 
Like  this  must  be  Jlat  t 

On  me  'twould  look  well  I  declare, 
In  martial  attire 
Who  would  not  admire, 
Diana  dressed  'en  milataire  I 
Oh,  then  with  the  fiercest  Pll  strut  and  Pll 

scold ; 
Dear  brother  forgive  me,  perhaps  Pm  too 
bold. 

[Exit,  R.H. 

*  The  original  song  is  descriptive  of  the  beau  of  Bicker- 
Staff's  day;  we  think  it  a  curiosity,  and  have  restored  it, 

SONG. 

Ladies,  pray  admire  a  figure, 

Fait  silon  le  derniere  gout. 
First,  his  hat  in  size  no  bigger 

Than  a  Chinese  woman's  shoe  ; 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  53 


Efiter  Clarissa,  l.h, 

Cla.  Sir,  I  took  the  liberty  to  desire  a  few  mo- 
ment's private  conversation  with  3'ou — 1  hope 
you  will  excuse  [Jes.  brings  dorvn  chairs.)  it — I 
am.  really  greatly  embarrassed.  But,  in  an 
affair  of  such  immediate  consequence  to  us 
both. 

Air.  Jes.  My  dear  creature  don't  be  embar- 
rassed before  me  ;  I  should  be  extremly  sorry 
to  strike  you  with  any  ( They  sit.)  awe ;  but,  this 
is  a  species  of  mauvaise  honte,  which  the  com- 
pany I  shall  introduce  you  to,  will  soon  cure  you 
of 

Cla.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  don't  understand 
you. 

Mr.  Jes.  Perhaps  you  may  be  under  some  un- 
easiness least  I  should  not  be  quite  so  warm  in 
the  prosecution  of  this  affair,  as  you  could  wish: 
it  is  true,  with  regard  to  quality,  I  might  do  bet- 
ter ;  and,  with   regard  to  fortune,  full  as  well- 
Six  yards  of  ribbon  bind 
His  liair  en  baton  behind  : 
While  his  fore-top's  so  high, 
That  in  crown  he  may  vie 
With  the  tufted  cockatoo. 

Then  his  waist  so  long  and  taper, 
'Tis  an  absolute  thread-paper, 

Maids  resist  him,  you  that  can  ; 
Odd's  life,  if  this  is  all  th'  affair, 
I'll  clap  a  baton,  club  my  hair, 

And  call  myself  a  man. 

6^ 


54  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

But,  you  please  me — Upon  my  soul,  I  have  not 
met  with  any  thing  more  agreeable  to  me  a 
great  while. 

Cla.  Pray,  sir,  keep  yonr  seat. 

Mr.  Jes.  Mauvaise  honte  again.  My  dear, 
there  is  nothing  in  these  little  familiarities  be- 
tween you  and  me — When  we  are  married,  I 
shall  do  every  thing  to  render  your  life  happy. 

Cla.  Ah  !  sir,  pardon  me.  The  happiness  of 
my  life  depends  upon  a  circumstance — 

Mr.  Jes.  Oh  !  I  understand  you— You  have 
been  told,  I  suppose,  of  the  Italian  opera  girl — 
Rat  people's  tongues — However,  'tis  true,  1  had 
an  affair  with  her  at  Naples,  and  she  is  now 
here.  But,  be  satisfied.  I'll  give  her  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  send  her  about  her  business. 

Cla.  Me  sir  !  I  protest  nobody  told  me — lord  ! 
I  never  heard  any  such  thing,  or  inquired  about 
it. 

Mr.  Jes.  Nor,  have  they  not  been  chattering 
to  you  of  my  affair  at  Pisa,  with  the  Principessa 
del— 

Cla.  No,  indeed,  Sir. 

Mr.  Jes.  Well,  1  was  afraid  they  might,  be- 
cause, in  this  rude  country — But,  why  silent  on 
a  sudden  ? — don't  be  afraid  to  speak. 

Cla.  {They  rise.)  No,  sir,  I  will  come  to  the 
subject,  on  which  I  took  the  liberty  to  trouble 
you — Indeed,  I  have  great  reliance  on  your 
generosity. 

Mr.  Jes.  You'll  find  me  as  generous  as  a 
prmce,  depend  on't. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  55 

Cla.  I  am  bless'd,  sir,  with  one  of  the  best  of 
fathers :  I  never  yet  disobeyed  him  ;  in  which  I 
have  had  httle  merit ;  for  his  commands  hither- 
to have  only  been  to  secure  my  own  fehcity. 

Mr.  Jes.  Apres  ma  chere. 

Cla.  But  now,  sir,  I  am  under  the  shocking 
necessity  of  disobeying  him,  or  being  wretched 
for  ever. 

Mr.  Jes.  Hem  ! 

Cla.  Our  union  is  impossible — therefore,  sir, 
since  I  cannot  be  your  wife,  let  me  entreat  per- 
mission to  make  you  my  friend.  [Exit^  l.h. 

Mr.  Jes.  Who's  there  ? 

Enter  Jenkins,  r.h. 

Jenk.  Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Mr.  Jes.  Hark  you,  old  gentleman ;  who  are 
you? 

Jenk.  Sir,  my  name  is  Jenkins. 

Mr.  Jes.  Oh!  you  are  sir  John  Flowerdale's 
steward  ;  a  servant  he  puts  confidence  in. 

Jenk.  Sir,  I  have  served  sir  John  Flowerdale 
many  years. 

Mr.  Jes.  Then,  Mr.  Jenkins,  I  shall  conde- 
scend to  speak  to  you.  Does  your  master  know 
who  I  am  ?  does  he  know,  sir,  that  1  am  likely 
to  be  a  peer  of  Great  Briton  ?  that  I  have  ten 
thousand  pounds  a  year  ;  that  1  have  passed 
t  through  all  Europe  with  distinguished  eclat ; 
i  that  1  refused  the  daughter  of  Mynheer  Van  Slo- 
I  kenfoik,  the  great  Duch  burgomaster ;  and,  that, 


56  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

if  I  had  not  bad  the  misfortune  of  being  bred  a 
protestant,  I  might  have  married  the  niece  of 
his  present  holiness  the  Pope,  with  a  fortune  of 
two  hundred  thousand  piasters  ? 

Jenk.  I  am  sure,  sir,  my  master  has  all  the 
respect  imaginable — 

Mr.  Jes.  Then,  sir,  how  comes  he,  after  my 
showing  an  inclination  to  be  allied  to  his  family : 
how  comes  he,  I  say,  to  bring  me  to  his  house 
to  be  affronted  ?  1  have  let  his  daughter  go  ;  but, 
I  think,  I  was  in  the  wrong  ;  for  a  woman  that 
insults  me,  is  no  more  safe  than  a  man  I  have 
brought  a  lady  to  reason  before  now,  for  giving 
me  saucy  language  ;  and  left  her  male  friends  to 
revenge  it. 

Jenk.  Pray,  good  sir,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Mr.  Jes  Why,  sir,  this  is  the  matter,  sir — 
your  master's  daughter,  sir,  has  behaved  to  me 
with  damn'd  insolence,  and  impertinence ;  and 
you  may  tell  sir  John  Flowerdale,  first  with  re- 
gard to  her,  that,  I  think  she  is  a  silly,  ignorant, 
aukward,  ill-bred  country  puss. 

Jenk.  Oh  !  sir,  for  heaven's  sake — 

Mr.  Jes.  And,  that,  with  regard  to  himself,  he 
is,  in  my  opinion,  an  old  doting,  ridiculous,  coun- 
try 'squire  ;  without  the  knowledge  of  either 
men  or  things ;  and,  that  he  is  below  my  notice, 
if  it  were  not  to  despise  him. 

Jenk.  Good  lord  !  good  lord  ! 

Mr.  Jes.  And  advise  him  and  his  daughter  to 
keep  out  of  my  way  ;  for,  by  gad,  I  will  affront 
them,  in  the  first  place  1  meet  them. — And  if 
your  master  is  for  carrying  things  further ;  tell 
him,  I  fence  better  than  any  man  in  Europe. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  57 


SONG.* 

In  Italy^  Germany ^  France^  have  I  been ; 
Where  princes  I've  liv^d  jvUh,  where  monarchs  Pve 
seen ; 

The  great  have  caressed  me. 
The  fair  have  addressed  me. 
Nay,  smiles  I  have  had  from  a  queen. 

And,  now,  shall  a  pert. 

Insignificant  fiirt, 

With  insolence  use  mcy 

Presume  to  refuse  me  ! 

She  fancies  my  pride  will  be  hurt. 

But  tout  au  contraire, 
I'm  pleased  I  declare. 
Quite  happy,  to  think,  I  escape  from  the  snare.- 
Serviteur  Mam'selle ;  my  claim  I  withdraw. 
Hey  I  where  are  my  people  1  Fal,  lal,  lal,  lal,  la, 

[Exit^  L.H. 

Jenk,  I  must  go  and  inform  sir  John  of  what 
has  happened  ;  but,  I  will  not  tell  him  of  the 
outrageous  behaviour  of  this  young  spark  ;  for 
he  is  a  man  of  spirit,  and  would  resent  it.  Egad, 
my  own  fingers  itched  to  be  at  him,  once  or 
twice  ;  and,  as  stout  as  he  is,  I  fancy  these  old 
fists  would  give  him  a  bellyfuH.  He  complains 
of  Miss  Clarissa  ;  but  she  is  incapable  of  treating 
him  in  the  manner  he  says.  Perhaps,  she  may 
have  behaved  with  some  coldness  towards  him; 
and  yet  that  is  a  mystery  to  me  too.     [Exit,  l.h. 

*  This  song  is  sometimes  omitted. 


5S  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

SCENE  III.— ^ir  John  Flowerdale's  Garden. 

Enter  Lionel,  leading  Clarissa,  r.ii. 

Lio.  Hist — methought  I  heard  a  noise — should 
we  be  surprised  together,  at  a  juncture  so  criti- 
cal; what  might  be  the  consequence — 1  know 
not  how  it  is  ;  but,  at  this  the  happiest  moment 
of  my  life,  I  feel  a  damp,  a  tremor,  at  my 
heart — 

Cla.  Then,  what  should  I  do  ?  If  you  tremble, 
I  ought  to  be  terrified  indeed,  who  have  disco- 
vered sentiments,  which,  perhaps,  I  should  have 
hid,  with  a  frankness,  that,  by  a  man  less  gene- 
rous, less  noble-minded  than  yourself,  might  be 
construed,  to  my  disadvantage. 

Lio.  Oh  !  wound  me  not  with  so  cruel  an  ex- 
pression— You  love  me  and  have  condescended 
to  confess  it — You  have  seen  my  torments,  and 
been  kind  enough  to  pity  them — The  world,  in- 
deed, may  blame  you — 

Cla,  And,  yet,  was  it  proclaimed  to  the  world, 
what  could  the  most  malicious  suggest  ?  ihey 
could  but  say,  that,  truth  and  sincerity  got  the 
better  of  forms  ;  that  the  tongue  dar'd  to  speak, 
the  honest  sensation  of  the  mind  ;  that  while  you 
aimed  at  improving  my  understanding,  you  en- 
gaged, and  conquered  my  heart. 

Lio.  And,  is  it !  is  it  possible  ? 

Cla.  Be  calm,  and  listen  to  me  :  what  I  have 
done  has  not  been  lightly  imagined,  nor  rashly 
undertaken  :  it  is  the  work  of  reflection,  or  con-* 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  59 

viction;  my  love  is  not  a  sacrifice  to  my  own 
fancy,  but  a  tribute  to  your  worth;  did  I  think 
there  was  a  more  deserving  man  in  the  world — 

Lio.  If,  to  doat  on  you  more  than  life,  be  to 
deserve  you,  so  far  I  have  merit ;  if,  to  have  no 
wish,  no  hope,  no  thought,  but  you,  can  entitle 
me  to  the  envied  distinction  of  a  moment's  re- 
gard, so  far  1  dare  pretend. 

Cla  That  I  have  this  day  refused  a  man,  w  ith 
whom  I  could  not  be  happy,  1  make  no  merit : 
born  for  quiet  and  simphcity,  the  crowds  of  the 
world,  the  noise  attending  pomp  and  distinction, 
have  no  charms  for  me  :  1  wish  to  pass  my  life 
in  rational  tranquillity,  with  a  friend,  whose  vir- 
tues I  can  respect,  whose  talents  1  can  admire  ; 
who  will  make  my  esteem  the  basis  of  my  affec- 
tion. 

Lio.  O  charming  creature !  yes,  let  me  in- 
dulge the  flattering  idea  ;  form'd  with  the  same 
sentiments,  the  same  feehngs,  the  same  tender 
passion  for  each  other;  nature  designed  us  to 
compose  that  sacred  union,  which  nothing  but 
death  can  annul. 

Cla.  One  only  thing  remember.  Secure  in 
each  others  affections,  here  we  must  rest ;  I 
would  not  give  my  father  a  moment's  pain,  to 
purchase  the  empire  of  the  world. 

Lio.  Command,  dispose  of  me  as  you  please  ; 
angels  take  cognizance  of  the  vows  of  innocence 
and  virtue  ;  and,  I  will  believe  that  ours  are  al- 
ready registered  in  heaven. 

Cla.  I  will  believe  so  too. 


60  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 


SONG. 

Go,  and  on  my  truth  relying. 
Comfort  to  your  cares  applying. 
Bid  each  doubt  and  sorrow  Jlying, 
Leave  to  peace,  and  love  your  breasts 

Go^  and  may  the  PowWs  that  hear  ws, 
Still,  as  kind  protectors  near  us, 
Through  our  troubles  safely  steer  «?, 
To  a  port  of  joy  and  rest. 

[Exit^  R.H. 

Enter  Sir  John  Flowerdale,  l.h. 

Sir  J,  Who's  there  ?  Lionel ! 

Lio.  Heavens  !  'tis  Sir  John  Flowerdale. 

Sir  J.  Who's  there  ? 

Lio.  'Tis  1,  sir;  I  am  here,  Lionel. 

Sir  J.  My  dear  lad,  I  have  been  searching  for 
you  this  half  hour,  and  was  at  last  told  you  had 
come  into  the  garden  :  1  have  a  piece   of  news,    j 
which  I    dare  swear  will  shock   and  surprise  j 
my  daughter  has  refused  colonel  Oldboy's  son,    j 
who  is  this  minute  departed  the  house  in  vio-    i 
lent  resentment  of  her  ill-treatment.  : 

Lio.  Perhaps,  sir,  the  gentleman  may  have    | 
been  too  impetuous,  and  offended  Miss  Flower-    i 
dale's   delicacy — certainly   nothing    else    could 
occasion —  ; 

Sir  J.  Heaven  only  knows — I  think,  indeed,    i 
there  can  be  no  settled  aversion,  and  surely  her 
affections  are  not  engaged  elsewhere. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  61 

Lio.  Engaged,  sir — No,  sir. 

Sir  J.  I  thinli  not,  Lionel. 

Lio.  You  may  be  positive,  sir — I'm  sure — 

Sir  J.  O  worthy  young  man  !  whose  integrity, 
openness,  and  every  good  quality  have  rendered 
dear  to  me  as  my  own  child ;  1  see  this  affair 
troubles  you  as  ii  uch  as  it  does  me. 

Lio.  It  troubles  me,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  J.  However,  my  particular  disappoint- 
ment ought  not  to  be  detrimental  to  you,  nor 
shall  it :  I  well  know  how  irksome  it  is  to  a  ge- 
nerous mind  to  live  in  a  state  of  dependance, 
and  have  long  had  it  in  my  thoughts  to  make 
you  easy  for  hfe. 

Lio.  Sir  John,  the  situation  of  my  mind  at 
present  is  a  little  disturbed — spare  me — I  be- 
seech you,  spare  me  ;  why  will  you  persist  in  a 
goodness  that  makes  me  ashamed  of  myself? 

Sir  J.  There  is  an  estate  in  this  county 
which  I  purchased  some  years  ago ;  by  me  it 
will  never  be  missed,  and  who  ever  marries  my 
daughter  will  have  little  reason  to  complain  of 
my  disposing  of  such  a  trifle  for  my  own  gratifi- 
cation. On  the  present  marriage  I  intended  to 
perfect  a  deed  of  gift  in  your  favour,  which  has 
been  for  some  time  prepared ;  my  lawyer  has 
this  day  completed  it,  and  it  is  yours,  my  dear 
Lionel,  with  every  good  wish  that  the  warmest 
friend  can  bestow. 

Lio.  Sir,  if  you  presented  a  pistol  with  a  de- 
sign to  shoot  me,  I  would  submit  to  it ;  but  you 
must  excuse  me,  I  cannot  lay  myself  under 
more  obligation*. 


62  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Sir  J.  Your  delicacy  carries  you  too  far ;  in 
this  1  confer  a  favour  on  myself:  however,  we'll 
talk  no  more  on  the  subject  at  present,  let  us 
walk  towards  the  house,  our  friends  will  depart 
else  without  my  bidding  them  adieu. 

[Exeunt^  L.H, 

Enter  Diana  and  Clarissa,  r.h. 

Dia.  So,  then,  my  dear  Clarissa,  you  really 
give  credit  to  the  ravings  of  that  French  wretch, 
with  regard  to  a  plurality  of  worlds  ? 

Cla.  1  don't  make  it  an  absolute  article  of  be- 
lief, but  I  think  it  an  ingenious  conjecture  with 
great  probability  on  its  side. 

Dia.  And  we  are  a  moon  to  the  moon !  Nay, 
child,  I  know  something  of  astronomy,  but  that 
— that  little  shinmg  thing  there,  which  seems 
not  much  larger  than  a  silver  plate,  should,  per- 
haps, contain  great  cities  like  London ;  and 
who  can  tell  but  they  may  have  kings  there  and 
parliaments,  and  plays  and  operas,  and  people 
of  fashion  !  lord  the  people  of  fashion  in  the 
moon  must  be  strange  creatures. 

Cla.  Melhinks  Venus  shines  very  bright  in 
yonder  corner. 

Dia.  Venus !  O  pray  let  me  look  at  Venus  ;  I 
suppose,  if  there  are  any  inhabitants  there,  they 
must  be  all  lovers. 

Enter  Lionel,  l.it. 

Lio.  Was  ever  such  a  wretch  ! — I  can't  stay  a 
moment  in  a  place  ;  where  is  my  repose  ? — tied 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  63 

with  my  virtue.  Was  I  then  born  for  falsehood 
and  dissimulation  ?  1  was,  I  was,  and  I  live  to  be 
conscious  of  it ;  to  impose  upon  my  friend  ;  to 
betray  my  benefactor,  and  lie,  to  hide  my  ingra 
titude — a  monster  in  a  moment — No,  I  may  be 
the  most  unfortunate  of  men,  but  I  will  not  be 
the  most  odious  ;  while  my  heart  is  yet  capable 
of  dictating  what  is  honest,  1  will  obey  its  voice. 

[Aside,  R.H.) 

Enter  Colonel  Oldboy,  Harman,  l.h. 

Col.  Dy,  where  are  you  ?  What  the  mischief, 
is  this  a  time  to  be  walking  in  the  garden  ?  The 
coach  has  been  ready  this  half  hour,  and  your 
mama  is  waiting  for  you. 

Dia.  I  am  learning  astronomy,  sir ;  do  you 
know,  papa,  the  moon  is  inhabited  ? 

Col.  Hussy,  you  are  half  a  lunatic  yourself; 
come  here,  things  have  gone  just  as  I  imagined 
they  wou'd,  the  girl  has  refused  your  brother,  I 
knew  he  must  disgust  her 

Dia.  Women  will  want  taste  now  and  then, 
sir. 

Col.  But  !  must  talk  to  the  young  lady  a  little. 

Har.  (To  Dia.)  Well,  I  have  had  a  long  con- 
ference with  your  father  about  the  elopement, 
and  he  continues  firm  in  his  opinion  that  I  ought 
to  attempt  it :  in  short,  all  the  necessary  opera- 
tions are  settled  between  us,  and  1  am  to  leave 
his  house  to-morrow  evening,  if  1  can  but  per- 
suade the  young  ladv — 


64  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Dia.  Aye,  but  I  hope  the  young  lady  will 
have  more  sense — Lord,  how  can  you  tease  me 
with  your  nonsense  Come,  sir,  isn't  it  time  for 
us  to  go  in  ?     Her  ladyship  will  be  impatient. 

Col.  Friend  Lionel,  good  night  to  you ;  Miss 
Clarissa,  my  dear,  though  I  am  father  to  the 
puppy  who  has  displeased  you,  give  me  a  kiss ; 
3^ou  served  him  right,  and  1  thank  you  for  it. 

QUARTETTO. 

Col.      O  what  a  night  is  here  for  love  ! 
Cynthia  brightly  shining  above ; 
Among  the  trees^ 
To  the  sighing  breeze. 
Fountains  tinkling^ 
Stars  a  tninkling : 

Dia.    O  what  a  night  is  here  for  love  ! 

So  may  the  morn  propitious  prove ; 

Har.  And  so  it  rvill^  if  right  I  guess ; 
For  sometimes  lights 
As  well  as  night, 
A  lover's 'hopes  may  bless, 

Cla.  ^  Farewell,  myfriend, 

and    >  May  gentle  rest 

Dia.  3  Calm  each  tumult  in  your  breast^ 

Every  pain  and  fear  remove, 
Lio.      What  have  I  done  ? 

Where  shall  I  run  7 

With  grief  and  shame  at  once  oppresl^ 

How  my  own  upbraiding  shun, 

Or  meet  my  friend  distrest  ? 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  05 

('{a.      Hark  to  Philomel,  how  sweet, 
Dia.      Fro m  yonde r  elm. 
IJar.  Tweet,  tiveet,  tweet,  tweet. 

.411,       O  what  a  night  is  here  for  love  ! 

But  vainly  nature  strives  to  move; 

Nor  nightingale  among  the  trees, 

JVor  twinkling  stars^  nor  sighing  breeze, 

Nor  murmuring  streams. 

Nor  Phabe's  beams, 

Can  charm  unless  the  hearths  at  ease. 

[Exeunt,  l.h, 

END    OF    ACT    II. 


ACT  m. 

SCENE   L — A  Room  in  Colonel  Oldboy"^ 
House. 

Enter  Harmax,  li^ith  his  Hat^  Boots,  and  Whip, 
folloxved  by  Dlana,  r.h. 

Dia.  Pr'ythee,  hear  me. 

Har.  My  dear,  what  would  you  say  ? 

Dia.  I  am  afraid  of  the  step  we  are  going-  to 
take  ;  indeed,  I  am  ;  'tis  true,  my  father  is  the 
contriver  of  it ;  but,  really,  on  consideration,  I 
think,  I  should  appear  less  culpable,  if  he  was 
not  so  ;  I  am  at  once  criminal  myself,  and  ren- 
dering him  ridiculous. 

Har.  Do  you  love  me  I 
6* 


66  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Dia.  Suppose  I  do,  you  give  me  a  very  ill 
proof  of  your  love  for  me,  when  you  would  take 
advantage  of  my  tenderness,  to  blind  my  reason  : 
how  can  you  have  so  little  regard  for  my  hon- 
our as  to  sacrifice  it  to  a  vain  triumph  ?  For  it 
is  in  that  light  I  see  the  rash  action  you  are  forc- 
ing me  to  commit ;  nay,  methinks,  my  consent- 
ing to  it  should  injure  me  in  your  own  esteem. 
When  a  woman  forgets  what  she  owes  herself, 
a  lover  should  set  little  value  upon  anything  she 
gives  to  him. 

Har.  Can  you  suppose  then,  can  you  imagine, 
that  my  passion  will  ever  make  me  forget  the 
veneration — And,  an  elopement  is  nothmg,  when 
it  is  on  the  road  to  matrimon^^ 

Dia.  At  best,  I  shall  incur  the  censure  of  dis- 
obedience, and  indiscretion  ;  and,  is  it  nothing  to 
a  young  woman,  what  the  world  saj^s  of  her  ?  Ah  ! 
my  good  friend,  be  assured,  such  a  disregard  of 
the  world  is  the  first  step  towards  deserving  its 
reproaches. 

Har.  But,  the  necessity  we  are  under — Man- 
kind has  too  much  good  sense,  too  much  good- 
nature— 

Dia.  Every  one  has  good  sense  enough  to  see 
other  people's  faults,  and  good-nature  enough 
to  overlook  their  own.  Besides,  the  most  sa^ 
cred  things  may  be  made  an  ill  use  of,  and  even 
marriage  itself,  if  indecently  and  improperly — 

Har.  Come,  get  yourself  ready  :  where  is 
your  band-box,  hat,  and  cloak  ?  Slip  into  the 
garden ;  be  there  at  the  iron-gate,  which  you 
showed  me  just  now ;  and,  as  the  post-chaise 
c6mes  round,  I  will  step  and  take  you  in. 


LIONEL  AND   CLARISSA.  67 

Dia.  Dear  Harman,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  de- 
sist. 

Har.  Dear  Diana,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  go 
on. 

Dia.  I  shall  never  have  resolution  to  carry 
me  through  it. 

Har.  We  shall  have  four  horses,  my  dear,  and 
they  will  assist  us. 

Dia.  In  short — I — cannot  go  with  you. 

Har.  But  before  me — Into  the  garden — Won't 
you  ? 

Dia.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  [Exit.  r.h. 

Ejiier  Colonel  Oldboy,   l.h. 

■Col.  Hey-day!  what's  the  meaning  of  this? 
Who  is  it  went  out  of  the  room  there  ?  Have 
you  and  my  daughter  been  in  conference,  Mr. 
Harman  ? 

Har.  Yes,  faith,  sir,  she  has  been  taking  me 
to  task  here  very  severely,  with  regard  to  this 
affair;  and  she  has  said  so  much  against  it,  and 
put  it  into  such  a  strange  light 

Col.  A  busy,  impertinent  baggage  ;  egad  I 
wish  I  had  catched  her  meddling,  and  after  I 
ordered  her  not :  but  you  have  sent  to  the  girl, 
and  you  say  she  is  ready  to  go  with  you ;  you 
must  not  disappoint  her  now. 

Har.  No,  no,  colonel ;  I  always  have  polite- 
ness enough  to  hear  a  lady's  reasons  ;  but  con- 
stancy enough  to  kjerep  a  will  of  my  own. 

Col.  Very  well — now  let  me  ask  you, — don't 
you  think  it  would  be   proper,  upon  this  occa- 


68  LIONEL   AND  CLARISSA. 

to  have  a  letter  ready  writ  for  the  father,  to  let 
him  know  who  has  got  his  daughter,  and  so- 
forth  ? 

Har.  Certainly,  sir ;  and  I'll  write  it  directly. 

Col.  You  write  it !  you  be  daran'd  !  1  won't 
trust  you  with  it ;  I  tell  you,  Harman,  you'll 
commit  some  cursed  blunder,  if  you  don't  leave 
the  management  of  this  whole  affair  to  me  :  I 
have  writ  the  letter  for  you  myself 

Har.  Have  you,  sir  ? 

Col.  Aye — here,  read  it;  I  think  it's  the 
thing  :  however,  you  are  welcome  to  make  any 
alteration. 

Har.  "  Sir.)  I  have  loved  your  daughter  a  great 
while.,  secretly  ;  she  assures  me  there  is  no  hopes  of 
your  consenting  to  our  marriage  ;  I  therefore  take 
her  withmit  it.  I  am  a  gentleman  who  zvill  use  her 
well  :  and.,  when  you  consider  the  matter.,  I  dare 
swear  you  will  be  willing  to  give  her  a  fortune.  If 
not.,  you  shall  find.)  I  dare  behave  myself  like  a  man 
— A  word  to  the  wise — You  must  expect  to  hear 
from  me  in  another  stile. 

Col,  Now,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  what  you  must 
do  with  this  letter :  as  soon  as  you  have  got  off 
with  the  girl,  sir,  send  your  servant  back  to 
leave  it  at  the  house,  with  orders  to  have  it  de- 
livered to  the  old  gentleman. 

Har.  Upon  my  honour,  I  will,  colonel. 

Col.  But,  upon  my  honour,  I  don't  believe 
you'll  get  the  girl :  come,  Harman,1I'llbet  you  a 
buck,  and  six  dozen  of  Burgundy,  that  you  won't 
have  spirit  enough  to  bring  this  aflfair  to  a  crisis, 

Har.  And,  I  say  done  first,  colonel. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  GU 

Col  Then  look  into  the  court  there,  sir  ;  a 
chaise  with  four  of  the  prettiest  bay  geldings  in 
England,  with  two  boys  in  scarlet  and  silver 
jackets,  that  will  whisk  you  along. 

Har.  Boys !  colonel  ?  Little  cupids,  to  trans- 
port me  to  the  summit  of  my  desires. 

Col  Aye,  but  for  all  that,  it  mayn't  be  amiss 
for  me  to  talk  to  them  a  little  out  of  the  win- 
dow for  you. — Dick,  come  hither;  you  are  to 
go  with  this  gentleman  and  do  whatever  he  bids 
you ;  and  take  into  the  chaise  whoever  he 
pleases ;  and,  drive  like  devils,  do  you  hear ; 
but,  be  kind  to  the  dumb  beasts. 

Har.  Leave  that  to  me,  sir — And  so,  my  dear 
colonel — 

SONG. 

To  fear  a  stranger, 

Beh'dd  the  soldier  arm ; 
He  knorvs  no  danger, 

IVhen  ho7io;r  sounds  (he  alarm  ; 
But  dauntless  goes, 
Jmong  his  foes. 

In  Cupid's  militia. 
So  fearless  I  issue  ; 

And  as  you  see, 

Arm'd  cap-a-pie. 
Resolve  on  death  or  victory.    [Exit,  r.h. 

Enter  Lady  Mary,  and  then  Jenny,  l.h.d. 

Lady  At.  Mr.  Oldboy,  here  is  a  note  from  sir 
John  Flowerdale,  it  is  addressed  to  me.  inlreal- 


70  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

ing  my  son  to  come  over  there  again  this  morn- 
ing. A  maid  brought  it :  she  is  m  the  anti- 
chamber — We  had  better  speak  to  her — child, 
child,  why  don't  you  come  in  ? 

Jen.  I  choose  to  stay  where  I  am,  if  your  la- 
dyship pleases. 

Lady  M.  Stay  where  you  are  !  why  so  ? 

Jen.  I  am  afraid  of  the  old  gentleman  there. 

Col.  Afraid  of  me,  hussy. 

Lady  M.  Pray,  colonel,  have  patience — 
Afraid — Here  is  something  at  the  bottom  of  this 
— What  did  you  mean  by  that  expression, child? 

Jen.  Why  the  colonel  knows  very  well,  mad- 
am, he  wanted  to  be  rude  with  me  yesterday. 

Lady  M.  Oh,  Mr.  Oldboy  ! 

Col.  Lady  Mary  don't  provoke  me,  but  let  me 
talk  to  the  girl  about  her  business.  How  come 
you  to  bring  this  note  here  ? 

Jen.  Why,  sir  John  gave  it  to  me,  to  deliver  to 
my  uncle  Jenkins,  and  I  took  it  down  to  his 
house  ;  but  while  we  were  talking  together,  he 
remembered  that  he  had  some  business  with  sir 
John,  so  he  desired  me  to  bring  it,  because  he 
said  it  was  not  proper  to  be  sent  by  any  of  the 
common  servants. 

Lady  M.  Colonel,  look  in  my  face,  and  help 
blushing  if  you  can. 

Col.  What  the  plague's  the  matter,  my  lady  ! 
I  have  not  been  wronging  you  now,  as  you  call 
it. 

Jen.  Indeed,  madam,  he  offer'd  to  make  me 
his  kept  madam  :  I  am  sure  his  usage  of  me  put 
me  into  such  a  twitter,  that  I  did  not  know  what 
1  was  doing  all  the  day  after. 


LIONEL  AND    CLARISSA.  71 

Lady  M.  I  don't  doubt  it,  tho'  I  so  lately  for- 
gave him ;  but  as  the  poet  says,  his  sex  is  all 
deceit.  Read  Pamela,  child,  and  resist  tempta- 
tion. 

Jen.  Yes,  madam,  I  will. 

Col.  Why  I  tell  you,  my  lady  it  was  all  a  joke. 

Jen.  No,  sir,  it  was  no  joke,  you  made  me  a 
proffer  of  money,  so  you  did,  whereby  I  told 
you,  you  had  a  lady  of  your  own,  and  that 
though  she  was  old,  you  had  no  right  to  despise 
her. 

Lady  M.  And  how  dare  you  mistress,  make  use 
of  my  name  ?  Is  it  for  such  trollops  as  you  to 
talk  of  persons  of  distinction  behind  their  backs  ? 

Jen.  Why,  madam,  I  only  said  you  was  in 
years. 

Lady  M.  Sir  John  Flowerdale  shall  be  in- 
formed of  your  impertinence,  and  you  shall  be 
turn'd  out  of  the  family ;  1  see  you  are  a  confi- 
dent creature,  and  I  believe  you  are  no  better 
than  you  should  be. 

Jen.  I  scorn  your  words,  madam. 

Lady  M.  Get  out  of  the  room;  how  dare  you 
stay  in  this  room  to  talk  impudently  to  me  ? 

Jen.  Very  well,  madam,  I  shall  let  my  lad}- 
know  how  you  have  us'd  me  ;  but  I  shan't  be 
turnM  out  of  my  place,  madam,  nor  at  a  loss,  if 
I  am  ;  and  if  you  are  angry  with  every  one  that 
won't  say  you  are  young,  1  believe  there  is  very 
few  you  will  keep  friends  with. 


I 


LIONEL   AND  CLARISSA, 


/  ivonder,  Pm  sure,  why  this  fuss  should  be  made  ; 
For  my  part  Pm  neither  ashamed  nor  afraid 
Of  what  I  have  done,  nor  oj  what  I  have  said. 
A  servant,  I  hope  is  no  slave ; 
And  tho\  to  their  shames. 
Some  ladies  call  names^ 
I  know  better  how  to  behave. 
Times  are  not  so  bad. 
If  occasion  I  had^ 
Nor  my  character  such  I  need  starve  on*t. 
And  for  going  away, 
I  don't  want  to  stay. 
And  so  Pm  your  ladyship's  servant, 

[Exit^  L.H.P. 

Enter  Mr.  Jessamy,  r.h. 

Mr.  Jes.  What  is  the  matter  here  ? 

Lady  M.  I  will  have  a  separate  maintenance. 
I  will  indeed.  Only  a  new  instance  of  your  fa- 
ther's infidelity,  my  dear.  Then  with  such  low 
wretches,  farmers'  daughters,  and  servant 
wenches:  but  any  thing  with  a  cap  on,  'tis  all 
the  same  to  him. 

Mr.  Jes.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  tell 
you,  that  those  practices  very  ill  suit  the  charac- 
ter which  you  ought  to  endeavour  to  support  in 
the  world. 

Lady  M.  Is  this  a  recompense  for  ray  love  and 
regard  ;  I,  who  have  been  tender  and  faithful  a? 
a  turtle  dove  ? 

3ir.  Jes.   ^  man  of  your  birth  and  distinction 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  73 

should,  methinks,  have  views  of  a  higher  na- 
ture, than  such  low,  such  vulgar  libertinism. 

Lady  M.  Consider  my  birth  and  family  too, 
lady  Mary  Jessamy  might  have  had  the  best 
matches  in  England. 

Mr.  Jes.  Then,  sir,  your  grey  hairs. 

Lady  M.  I,  that  have  brought  you  so  many 
lovely  sweet  babes. 

Mr.  Jes.  Nay,  sir,  it  is  a  reflection  on  me. 

Lady  M.  The  heinous  sin  too — 

Mr.  Jes.  Indeed,  sir,  I  blush  for  you. 

Col.  S'death  and  fire,  you  little  eflfeminate 
puppy,  do  you  know  who  you  talk  to? — And 
you,  madam,  do  you  know  who  I  am  ! — Get  up 
to  your  chamber,  or  zounds  I'll  make  such  a — 

Lady  M.  Ah  !  my  dear  come  away  from  him. 

[Exit^  R.H. 

Enter  a  Servant,  l.h. 

Col.  Am  1  to  be  tutor'd  and  call'd  to  account ! 
How  now,  you  scoundrel,  what  do  you  want? 

Serv.  A  letter,  sir. 

Col    A  letter,  from  whom,  sirrah  ? 

Serv.  The  gentleman's  servant,  an't  please 
your  honour,  that  left  this  just  now  in  the  post- 
chaise — the  gentleman  my  young  lady  went 
away  with. 

Col.  Your  young  lady,  sirrah — your  young 
lady  went  away  with  no  gentleman,  you  dog — 
what  gentleman  !  What  young  lady,  sirrah ! 

Mr,  Jes.  There  is  some  mystery  in  this—* 
7 


74  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

With  your  leave,  sir,  I'll  open  the  letter  :  I  be- 
lieve it  contains  no  secrets. 

Col.  What  are  you  going  to  do,  you  jacka- 
napes ?  you  shan't  open  a  letter  of  mine — Dy — 
Diana — Somebody  call  my  daughter  to  me  there. 
— To  John  Oldboy^  Esq. — Sir^  I  have  lov^d  your 
daughter  a  great  while^  secretly — consenting  to  our 
marriage — 

Mr.  Jes.  So  so. 

Col.  You  villain — ^you  dog,  what  is  it  you 
have  brought  me  here  ? 

Serv.  Please  your  honour,  if  you'll  have  pa- 
tience, I'll  tell  your  honour — As  I  told  your  ho- 
nour before,  the  gentleman's  servant  that  went 
oflf  just  now  in  the  post-chaise,  came  to  the  gate, 
and  left  it  after  his  master  was  gone.  I  saw 
my  young  lady  go  into  the  chaise  with  the  gen- 
tleman. 

Mr.  Jes.  Why  this  is  your  own  hand. 

Col,  Call  all  the  servants  in  the  house,  let 
horses  be  saddled  directly — every  one  take  a 
different  road. 

Serv  Why,  your  honour,  Dick  said  it  was  by 
your  own  orders. 

Col  My  orders  !  you  rascal  ?  I  thought  he 
was  going  to  run  away  with  another  gentleman's 
daughter — Dy — Diana  Oldboy. 

[Exit  Servant^  l.h. 

Mr.  Jes.  Don't  waste  your  lungs  to  no  pur- 
pose, sir ;  your  daughter  is  half  a  dozen  miles 
off  by  this  time. 

Col.  Sirrah,  you  have  been  brib'd  to  further 
the  scheme  of  a  pick-pocket  here. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  75 

Mr.  Jes.  Besides,  the  matter  is  entirely  of 
your  own  contriving,  as  well  as  the  letter  and 
spirit  of  this  elegant  epistle. 

Col.  You  are  a  coxcomb,  and  I'll  disinherit 
you  ;  the  letter  is  none  of  my  writing,  it  was  writ 
by  the  devil,  and  the  devil  contrived  it.  Diana, 
Margaret,  my  lady  Mary,  William,  John — 

[Exit^  L.H. 

Mr.  Jes  I  am  very  glad  of  this,  prodigiously 
glad  of  it  upon  my  honour — he  !  he  !  he  ! — it 
will  be  a  jest  this  hundred  years,  (^bells  ring  vio- 
lently., on  both  sides.)  What's  the  matter  now  ? 
O !  her  ladyship  has  heard  of  it,  and  is  at  her 
bell ;  and  the  Colonel  answers  her.  A  pretty 
duet ;  but  a  little  too  much  upon  the  forte  me- 
thinks  :  it  would  be  a  diverting  thing  now,  to 
stand  unseen  at  the  old  gentleman's  elbow. 

[Exit,  L.H. 

Enter  Colonel  O.'  dboy,  with  one  Boot,  a  Great- 
coat on  his  Arm,  <^c.  followed  by  several  Ser- 
vants, M.D. 

Col  She's  gone,  by  the  lord ;  fairly  stole 
away,  with  that  poaching,  coney-catching  rascal ! 
However,  I  won't  follow  her;  no,  damme  ;  take 
my  whip,  and  my  cap,  and  my  coat,  and  order 
the  groom  to  unsaddle  the  horses  ;  I  won't  tol- 
low  her  the  length  of  a  spurieather.  Come 
here,  you  sir,  and  pull  off  my  boot;  (whistles) 
she  has  made  a  fool  of  me  once,  she  shan't  do 
it  a  second  time  ;  not  but  Til  be  reveng'd  too,  for 
I'll  never  give  her  sixpence  ;  the   disappoints 


76  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

ment  will  put  the  scoundrel  out  of  temper,  and 
and  he'll  thrash  her  a  dozen  times  a  day ;  the 
thought  pleases  me,  I  hope  he'll  do  it. — What 
do  you  stand  gaping  and  staring  at,  you  impu- 
dent dogs?  are  you  laughing  at  me?  I'll  teach 
you  to  be  merry  at  my  expense. — 

SONG. 

A  rascal,  a  hussy ;  sounds  !  she  that  I  counted 

In  temper  so  mild,  so  unpractised  in  evil: 
I  set  her  a  horse-back^  and  no  sooner  mounted. 

Than,  crack,  whip  and  spur,  she  rides  post  to  the  devil. 
But  there  let  her  ruUy 
Be  rxiin'd  undone ; 
If  I  go  to  catch  her. 
Or  back  again  fetch  her, 
Vm  morse  than  the  son  of  a  gun . 

A  mischief  possessed  me  to  marry ; 
And  further  my  folly  to  carry. 
To  be  still  more  a  sot. 
Sons  and  daughter  I  got. 
And  pretty  ones,  by  the  lord  Harry. 

[Exeunt^  m.d. 

SCENE  n. — Clarissa's  Dressing-room. 

Enter  Clara,  r.h.  melancholy.^  with  a  Book  in  her 
Hand.,  meeting  Jenny,  l.h. 

Cla.  Where  have  you  been  Jenny  ?  I  was  en- 
quiring for  you — why  will  you  go  out  without 
letting  me  know  ? 

Jen.  Dear  ma'am,  never  any   thing  happen'd 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  77 

so  unlucky  ;  1  am  sorrj  you  wanted  me — But  I 
was  sent  to  colonel  Oldboy's  with  a  letter; 
where  I  have  been  so  used — lord  have  mercy 
upon  me — quaHty  indeed — I  say  quality — pray, 
madam,  do  you  think  that  I  looks  any  ways  like 
and  immodest  parson — to  he  sure  I  have  a  gay 
air,  and  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  loves  to  appear  a 
little  genteelish,  that's  what  I  do. 

Cla.  Jenny,  take  away  this  book. 

Jen.  Heaven  preserve  me,  madam,  you  are 
crying. 

Cla.  O  my  dear  Jenny  ! 

Jen.  My  dear  mistress,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Cla.  I  am  undone. 

Jen.  No,  madam ;  no,  lord  forbid  ! 

Cla.  I  am  indeed — I  have  been  rash  enough 
to  discover  my  weakness  for  a  man  who  treats 
me  with  contempt. 

Jen.  Is  Mr.  Lionel  ungrateful,  then  ? 

Cla.  I  have  lost  his  esteem  for  ever,  Jenny. 
Since  last-night,  that  I  fatally  confess'd  what  I 
should  have  kept  a  secret  from  all  the  world, 
he  has  scarce  condescended  to  cast  a  look  at  me, 
nor  give  me  an  answer  when  I  spoke  to  him, 
but  with  coldness  and  reserve. 

Jen.  Then  he  is  a  nasty,  barbarous  inhuman 
brute. 

Cla.  Hold,  Jenny,  hold ;  it  is  all  my  fault. 

Jen.  Your  fault,  madam  !  I  wish  I  was  to  hear 
such  a  word  come  out  of  his  mouth  :  if  he  was  a 
minister  to-morrow,  and  to  say  such  a  thing  from 
his  pulpit,  and  I  by,rd  tell  him  it  was  false  upon 
the  spot.  {A  knock,  l.ti.) 


78  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Cla.  Somebody's  at  the  door  ;  see  who  it  is. 

Jen.  You  in  fault  indeed — that  I  know  to  be 
the  most  virtuousest,  nicest,  most  deUcatest — 

{Goes  to  the  door.) 

Cla.  How  now  ? 

Jen.  Madam,  it's  a  message  from  Mr.  Lionel. 
If  you  are  alone,  and  at  leisure,  he  would  be 
glad  to  wait  upon  you ;  I'll  tell  him,  madam,  that 
you  are  busy. 

Cla.  Where  is  he,  Jenny  ? 

Jen.  In  the  study,  the  man  says. 

Cla.  Then  go  to  him,  and  tell  him  I  should 
be  glad  to  see  him  :  but  do  not  bring  him  up  im- 
mediately, because  1  will  stand  in  the  balcony  a 
few  minutes  for  a  little  air. 

Jen.  Do  so,  dear  madam,  for  your  eyes  are 
as  red  as  ferrets,  you  are  ready  to  faint  too ; 
mercy  on  us,  for  what  do  you  grieve  and  vex 
yourself — if  I  was  as  you —  [Exit^  l.h. 

Cla.  Oh! 

SONO. 

Jf'hy  with  sighs  my  heart  is  swellings 
Why  with  tears  my  eyes  o^erjlon; 

Ask  me  not.  His  past  the  telling^ 
Mute  involuntary  woe. 

JFho  to  winds  and  waves  a  stranger, 
VenVrous  tempts  the  inconstant  seas, 

In  each  billow  fancies  danger, 
>Shrinks  at  every  risi?ig  breese. 

[Exit^  R.H. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 


Enter  Sir  John  Flowerdale  and  Jenkins,  l.h. 

Sir  J.  So  then,  the  mystery  is  discovered  : — 
but  is  it  possible  that  my  daughter's  refusal  of 
colonel  Oldboy's  son,  should  proceed  from  a 
clandestine  engagement,  and  that  engagement 
with  Lionel  ? 

Jenk.  Yes,  sir,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you ; 
else  I  would  rather  die  than  be  the  means  of 
wounding  the  heart  of  my  dear  young  lady ;  for 
if  there  is  one  upon  earth  of  truly  noble  and 
dehcate  sentiments — 

Sir  J.  I  thought  so  once,  Jenkins. 

Je7ik.  And  think  so  still:  O  good  sir  John, 
now  is  the  time  for  you  to  exert  that  character 
of  worth  and  gentleness  which  the  world  so  de- 
servedly has  given  you.  You  have  indeed  cause 
to  be  offended ;  but  consider,  sir,  your  daughter 
is  young,  beautiful,  and  amiable  ;  the  poor  youth 
unexperienced,  sensible,  and  at  a  time  of  life 
when  such  temptations  are  hard  to  be  resisted  : 
their  opportunities  were  many,  their  cast  of 
thinking  the  same — 

Sir  J.  Jenkins,  I  can  allow  for  all  these 
things ;  but  the  young  hypocrites,  there's  the 
thing,  Jenkins ;  their  hypocrisy,  their  hypocrisy 
wounds  me. 

Jenk.  Call  it  by  a  gentler  name,  sir,  modesty 
on  her  part,  apprehension  on  his. 

Sir  J.  Then  what  opportunity  have  they  had? 
They  never  were  together  but  when  my  sister 
or  myself  made  one  of  the  company  j  besides,  1 


80  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA 

had  so  firm  a  reliance  on  Lionel's  honour  and 
gratitude. — 

Jenk.  Sir,  1  can  never  think  that  nature 
stamp'd  that  gracious  countenance  of  his,  to 
mask  a  corrupt  heart. 

Sir  J.  How !  at  the  very  time  that  he  was 
conscious  of  being  himself  the  cause  of  it,  did  he 
not  show  more  concern  at  this  affair  than  I  did  ? 
Nay,  don't  I  tell  you  that  last  night,  of  his  own 
accord,  he  offered  to  be  a  mediator  in  the  affair, 
and  desired  my  leave  to  speak  to  my  daughter? 
I  thought  myself  obliged  to  him,  consented  ;  and, 
in  consequence  of  his  assurance  of  success,  wrote 
that  letter  to  colonel  Oldboy,  to  desire  the  fami- 
ly would  come  here  again  to-day. 

Jenk.  Sir,  as  we  were  standing  in  the  next 
room,  I  heard  a  message  delivered  from  Mr. 
Lionel,  desiring  leave  to  wait  upon  your  daugh- 
ter ;  1  dare  swear  they  will  be  here  presently ; 
suppose  we  were  to  step  into  that  closet,  and 
overhear  their  conversation  ? 

Sir  J.  What,  Jenkins,  after  having  lived  so 
many  years  in  confidence  with  my  child,  shall  I 
become  an  eves-dropper  to  detect  her? 

Jenk.  It  is  necessary  at  present — Come  in, 
my  dear  master,  let  us  only  consider  that  we 
were  once  young  like  them  ;  subject  to  the 
same  passions,  the  same  indiscretions  ;  and  it  is 
the  duty  of  every  man  to  pardon  errors  incident 
to  his  kind.  [Exeunt^  m.d 


LIONEL  AND   CLARISSA.  81 

Enter  Clarissa,  r.h.  and  Lionel,  l.h.d. 

Cla.  Sir,  you  desired  to  speak  to  me  ;  I  need 
not  tell  you  the  present  situation  of  my  heart ; 
it  is  full.  Whatever  you  have  to  say,  I  beg  you 
will  explain  yourself;  and  if  possible,  rid  me  of 
the  anxiety  under  which  I  have  laboured  for 
some  hours. 

Lio.  Madam,  your  anxiety  cannot  be  greater 
than  mine  ;  I  come,  indeed  to  speak  to  you  ; 
and  yet,  I  know  not  how,  I  came  to  advise  you, 
shall  I  say  as  a  friend  ?  yes,  as  a  friend  to  your 
glory,  your  felicity ;  dearer  to  me  than  my  life. 

Cla    Go  on,  sir. 

Lio.  Sir  John  Flowerdale,  madam,  is  such  a 
father  as  few  are  blest  with  ;  his  care,  his  pru- 
dence has  provided  for  you  a  match — Your  re- 
fusal renders  him  inconsolable.  Listen  to  no 
suggestions  that  would  pervert  you  from  your 
duty,  but  make  the  worthiest  of  men  happy  by 
submitting  to  his  will. 

Cla.  How,  sir,  after  what  passed  between  us 
yesterday  evening,  can  you  advise  me  to  marry 
Mr.  Jessamy? 

Lio.  I  would  advise  you  to  marry  any  one, 
madam,  rather  than  a  villain, 

Cla.  A  villain   sir. 

Lio.  \  should  be  the  worst  of  villains,  madam, 
was  I  to  talk  to  you  in  any  other  strain  :  Nay, 
am  1  not  a  villain,  at  once  treacherous  and  un- 
grateful ?  Received  into  this  house  as  an  asylum  : 
what  have  I  done  !  Betraved  the  confidence  of 


82  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

the  friend  that  trusted  me  ;  endeavoured  to  sa- 
crifice his  peace,  and  the  honour  of  his  family, 
to  my  own  unwarrantable  desires. 

Cla.  Say  no  more,  sir  ;  say  no  more  ;  I  see 
my  error  too  late  ;  I  have  parted  from  the  rules 
prescribed  to  my  sex ;  I  have  mistaken  indeco- 
rum for  a  laudable  sincerity ;  and  it  is  just  I 
should  meet  with  the  treatment  my  imprudence 
deserves. 

Lio.  'Tis  I,  and  only  I,  am  to  blame  ;  while  I 
took  advantage  of  the  father's  security,  I  prac- 
tised upon  the  tenderness  and  ingenuity  of  the 
daughter;  my  own  imagination  gone  astray,  I 
artfully  laboured  to  lead  yours  after  it :  but 
here,  madam,  I  give  you  back  those  vows  which 
I  insidiously  extorted  from  you;  keep  them  for 
some  happier  man,  who  may  receive  them  with- 
out wounding  his  honour,  or  his  peace. 

Cla.  For  heaven's  sake — 

Lio.  Oh  !  my  Clarissa,  my  heart  is  broke  ;  I 
am  hateful  to  myself  for  loving  you ;  yet,  be- 
fore I  leave  you  for  ever,  I  will  once  more 
touch  that  lovely   hand — indulge   my    fondness 

with  a  last  look pray  for  your   health  and 

prosperity. 

Cla.  Can  you  forsake  me  ?  Have  I  then  given 
my  affections  to  a  man  who  rejects  and  disre- 
gards them  ?  Let  me  throw  myself  at  my  fa- 
ther's feet ;  he  is  generous  and  compassionate  :— 
He  knows  your  worth 

Lio.  Mention  it  not  ;  were  you  stript  of  for- 
tune, reduced  to  the  meanest  station,  and  I  mo- 
narch of  the  globe,  I  should  glory  in  raising  you 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  83 

to   universal    empire  ;  but   as   it   is^ — farewell ! 
farewell  ! 

O  dry  those  tears  I  like  melted  ore, 
Fast  diop'ping  on  my  heart  they  fall; 

Think,  thinks  no  more  of  me ;  no  more 
The  mem'ry  of  'past  scenes  recall. 

On  a  wild  sea  of  passion  toss'd.^ 

1  split  upon  the  fatal  shelf, 
Friendship  and  love  at  once  are  lost. 

And  now  I  wish  to  lose  myself 

[Exit,    L.H.D. 

Enter  Jenny,  r.h. 

Jen.  O  madam  !  I  have  betray'd  you.  I  have 
gone  and  said  something  I  should  not  have  said 
to  my  uncle  Jenkins ;  and,  as  sure  as  day,  he  has 
gone  and  told  it  all  to  Sir  John. 

Enter  Sir  John  and  Jenkins,  m.d. 

Cla.  My  father ! 

Sir  J.  Go,  Jenkins,  and  desire  that  young 
gentleman  to  come  back— stay  where  you  are— 
But  what  have  I  done  to  my  child  ?  How  have  I 
deserved  that  you  should  treat  me  like  an  ene- 
my ?  Has  there  been  any  undesigned  rigour  in 
my  conduct,  or  terror  in  my  looks  ? 

Cla.  Oh  sir  I 


84  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA, 

Enter  Lionel,  l.h.d. 

Jenk.  Here  is  Mr.  Lionel. 

Sir  J.  Come  in — When  I  tell  you  that  I  am 
instructed  in  all  your  proceedings,  and  that  I 
have  been  ear-witness  to  your  conversation  in 
this  place ;  you  will,  perhaps,  imagine  what  my 
thoughts  are  of  you,  and  the  measures  which 
justice  prescribes  me  to  follow. 

Lio.  Sir  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  my  own 
defence;  1  stand  before  you  self-convicted,  self- 
condemned,  and  shall  submit  without  murmuring 
to  the  sentence  of  my  judge. 

Sir  J.  As  for  you,  Clarissa,  since  your  earliest 
infancy  you  have  known  no  parent  but  me  ;  I 
have  been  to  you,  at  once,  both  father  and  mo- 
ther ;  and,  that  I  might  the  better  fulfil  those 
united  duties,  though  left  a  widower  in  the 
prime  of  my  days,  I  would  never  enter  into  a 
second  marriage — I  loved  you  for  your  likeness 
to  your  dear  mother ;  but  that  mother  never 
deceived  me — and  there  the  likeness  fails — you 
have  repaid  my  affection  with  dissimulation — 
Clarissa  you  should  have  trusted  me.  As  for 
you,  Mr.  Lionel,  what  terms  can  I  find  strong 
enough  to  paint  the  excess  of  my  friendship  ! — I 
loved,  I  esteemed,  I  honoured  your  father :  he 
was  a  brave,  a  generous,  and  a  sincere  man ;  I 
thought  you  inherited  his  good  qualities — you 
were  left  an  orphan,  1  adopted  you,  put  you 
upon  the  footing  of  my  own  son  ;  educated  you 
like  a  gentleman ;  and  designed  you  for  a  pro- 
fession, to  which,  I  thought,  your  virtues  would 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  85 

have  been  an  ornament.  What  return  you  have 
made  me,  you  seem  to  be  acquainted  with  your- 
self; and,  therefore,  I  shall  not  repeat  it — Yet, 
remember,  as  an  aggravation  of  your  guilt,  that 
the  last  mark  of  my  bounty  was  conferred  upon 
you  m  the  very  instant,  when  you  were  under- 
mining my  designs.  Now,  sir,  1  have  but  one 
thing  more  to  say  to  you — Take  my  daughter : 
was  she  worth  a  million,  she  is  at  your  service. 

Lio.  To  me  sir  ! — your  daughter—  do  you  give 
her  to  me  ?— Without  fortune — without  friends  ! 
— without — 

Sir  J.  You  have  them  all  in  your  heart;  him 
whom  virtue  raises,  fortune  cannot  abase. 

Cla.  O,  sir,  let  me  on  my  knees  kiss  that  dear 
hand — acknowledge  my  error,  and  entreat  for- 
giveness and  blessing. 

Sir  J.  You  have  not  erred,  my  dear  daughter  ; 
you  have  distinguished.  It  is  I  should  ask  par- 
don, for  this  little  trial  of  you  ;  for  I  am  happier 
in  the  son-in-law  you  have  given  me,  than  if  you 
had  married  a  prince — 

Lio.  My  patron — my  friend — my  father — ^I 
would  fain  say  something  ;  but,  as  your  goodness 
exceeds  all  bounds — 

Sir  J.  I  thmk  I  hear  a  coach  drive  into  the 
court ;  it  is  colonel  Oldboy's  family ;  I  will  go 
and  receive  them.  Don't  make  yourself  uneasy 
at  this ;  we  must  endeavour  to  pacify  them  as 
well  as  we  can.  My  dear  Lionel,  if  I  have 
made  you  happy,  you  have  made  me  so  j  Hea- 
8 


86  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

ven  bless  you,  my  children,  and  make  you  de- 
serving of  one  another. 

[Exe^int  Sir  John  and  Jenkins^  l.h. 

Clarissa,  Lionel,  Jenny. 

Jen.  O  dear,  madam,  upon  my  knees,  I  humbly 
beg  your  forgiveness — Dear  Mr.  Lionel,  forgive 

me — I  did  not  design  to  discover  it,  indeed 

and  you  won't  turn  me  off,  madam,  will  you  ? 
ril  serve  you  for  nothing. 

Cla.  Get  up,  my  good  Jenny  ;  I  freely  forgive 
you  if  there  is  any  thing  to  be  forgiven,  1  know 
you  love  me  ;  and,  I  am  sure  here  is  one  who 
will  join  with   me  in  rewarding  your  services. 

Jen.  Well,  if  I  did  not  know,  as  sure  as  could 
be,  that  some  good  would  happen,  by  my  left 
eye  itching  this  morning.  [Exit,  r.h. 

DUET. 

Lio.  O  bliss  unexpected  I  my  joys  overpower  me  I 

My  love,  my  Clarissa,  what  words  shall  I 
Jind! 
Remorse,  desperation,  no  longer  devour  me — 
He  bless*d  us,  and  peace  is  restored  to  my 
mind. 

Cla,  He  bless*d  us  /  O  rapture  !  Like  one  I  recover, 
Whom  death  had  appaWd  without  hope,  with- 
out aid; 
A  moment  deprived  me  of  father  and  lover  ; 
A  moment  restores,  and  my  pangs  are  repaid. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  87 

Lio.  Forsaken  y  abandoned y 

Cla. fVhat  folly  !  what  blindness  .' 

Lio.  fVe fortune  accused; 

Cla    . and  the  fates  that  decreed: 

Both,  But  pain  7vas  injiicted  by  heaven,  out  of  kind- 
ness^ 

To  heighten  the  joys  that  mere  doom*d  to 
succeed. 
Our  day  was  o'er  cast 

But  brighter  the  scene  is^ 
The  sky  more  serene  is, 
Jnd  softer  the  calm  for  the  hurricane  past. 

\_ExeAmt,  L.H. 

Enter  Lady  Mary  Oldboy,  Mr.  Jessamy,  leading 
her  ;  Jenny,  and  afterwards  Sir  John  Flower- 
dale,  with  Colonel  Oldboy,  m.d. 

Lady  M.  'Tis  all  in  vain,  my  dear; — set  me 
down  anywhere  ;  I  can't  go  a  step  further — I 
knew,  when  Mr,  Oldboy  insisted  upon  my  com- 
ing, that  I  should  be  seized  with  a  meagrim  by 
the  way ;  and  it's  well  I  did  not  die  in  the  coach. 

Mr.  Jes.  But,  pr'ythee,  why  will  you  let  your- 
self be  affected  with  such  trifles — Nothing  more 
common  than  for  young  women  of  fashion  to  go 
off  with  low  fellows. 

Lady  M.  Only  feel,  my  dear,  how  I  tremble ! 
Not  a  nerve  but  what  is  in  agitation ;  and  my 
blood  runs  cold  !  cold  ! 

Mr.  Jes.  Well,  but  lady  Mary,  don't  let  us 
expose  ourselves  to  those  people  ;  I  see  there 
is  not  one  of  the  rascals  about  us,  that  has  not  a 
grin  upon  his  countenance. 


88  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Lady  M.  Expose  ourselves ;  my  dear !  Your 
father  will  be  as  ridiculous  as  Hudibras,  or  don 
Quixotte. 

j\lr.  Jes.  Yes,  he  will  be  very  ridiculous  in- 
deed. 

Enter  Jenkins,  l.h. 

Sir  J.  I  give  you  my  word,  my  good  friend, 
and  neighbour,  the  joy  1  feel  upon  this  occasion, 
is  greatly  allayed  by  the  disappointment  of  an 
aUiance  with  your  family  ;  but  I  have  explained 
to  you  how  things  have  happened — You  see  my 
situation  ;  and,  as  you  are  kind  enough  to  con- 
sider it  yourself,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  it  to 
your  son. 

Lady  AL  Sir  John  Flowerdale,  how  do  you 
do  ?  You  see  we  have  obey'd  your  summons ; 
and  I  have  the  pleasure  to  assure  you,  that  my 
son  yielded  to  my  intreaties  with  very  little  dis- 
agreement: in  short,  if!  may  speak  metaphori- 
cally, he  is  content  to  stand  candidate  again, 
notwithstanding  his  late  repulse,  when  he  hopes 
for  an  unanimous  election. 

Col.  Well,  but,  my  lady,  you  may  save  your 
rhetoric ;  for  the  borough  is  disposed  of  to  a 
worthier  member. 

Mr.  Jes.  What  do  you  say,  sir  ? 

Enter  Lionel,  Clarissa,  and  Jenny,  l.h. 

Sir  J.  Here  are  ray  son  and  daughter. 
Lady  M.  Is  this  pretty  sir  John  ? 


LIONEL   AND  CLARISSA.  89 

Sir  J.  Believe  me,  madam,  it  is  not  for  want 
of  a  just  sense  of  Mr.  Jessamy's  merit,  that  this 
affair  has  gone  off  on  any  side :  but  the  heart  is 
a  delicate  thing  ;  and  after  it  has  once  felt,  if 
the  object  is  meritorious,  the  impression  is  not 
easily  effac'd  ;  it  would,  theretore,  have  been 
an  injury  to  him,  to  have  given  him  in  appear- 
ance what  another  in  reality  possessed. 

Mr.  Jes.  Upon  my  honour,  upon  my  soul,  sir 
John,  I  am  not  in  the  least  offended  at  this  contre 
temps — Pray,  lady  Mary,  say  no  more  about  it. 

Col.  Tol,  lol,  lol,  lol. 

Sir  J.  But,  my  dear  colonel,  I  am  afraid,  after 
all,  this  affair  is  taken  amiss  by  you  ;  yes,  I  see 
3'ou  are  angry  on  your  son's  account ;  but  let 
me  repeat  it,  I  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  his 
merit. 

Col.  Aye  I  that's  more  than  I  have.  Taken 
amiss !  I  don't  take  any  thing  amiss ;  I  never 
was  in  better  spirits,  or  more  pleased  in  my  life. 

Sir  J.  Come,  you  are  uneasy  at  something, 
colonel. 

Col.  Me  !  Gad  I  am  not  uneasy — Are  you  a 
justice  of  peace  ?  Then  you  couid  give  me  a 
warrant,  cou'dn't  you  ?  You  must  know,  sir 
.John,  a  little  accident  has  happen'd  in  mj 
family  since  I  saw  you  last,  and  you  and  I  may 
shake  hands — Daughters,  sir,  daughters  !  Yours 
has  snapt  at  a  young  fellow  without  your  appro- 
bation ;  and  how  do  you  think  mine  has  serv'd 
me  this  morning  ? — only  run  away  with  the 
scoundrel  I  brought  to  dinner  here  yesterday. 

Sir  J.  1  am  excessively  concerned 
8* 


yo  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Col.  Now  I'm  not  a  bit  concernM — No,  damn 
me,  I  am  glad  it  has  happened  ;  yet,  thus  far, 
I'll  confess,  I  should  be  sorry  that  either  of 
them  would  come  in  my  way,  because  a  man's 
temper  may  sometimes  get  the  better  of  him, 
and  I  believe  I  should  be  tempted  to  break  her 
neck,  and  blow  his  brains  out. 

Cla.  But  pray,  sir,  explain  this  affair. 

Col.  I  can  explain  it  no  farther. — Dy,  my 
daughter  Dy,  has  run  away  from  us. 

Enter  Diana  and  Harman,  l.h. 

Dia.  No,  my  dear  papa,  I  am  not  run  away  ; 
and,  upon  my  knees,  I  intreat  your  pardon  for 
the  folly  I  have  committed ;  but,  let  it  be  some 
alleviation,  that  duty  and  affection,  were  too 
strong  to  suffer  me  to  carry  it  to  extremity : 
and,  if  you  knew  the  agony  I  have  been  in, 
since  I  saw  you  last 

Lady  M.  How's  this  ? 

Har.  Sir,  I  restore  your  daughter  to  you  ; 
whose  fault,  as  far  as  it  goes,  I  must  also  take 
upon  myself;  we  have  been  known  to  each 
other  for  some  time  ;  as  lady  Richly,  your  sister, 

in  London,  can  acquaint  you 

'  Col.    Dy,    come    here Now,   you    rascal, 

Where's  your  sword ;  if  you  are  a  gentleman 
you  shall  fight  me  ;  if  you  are  a  scrub,  I'll 
horse-whip  you — Shut  the  door  there,  don't  let 
him  escape. 

Har.  Sir,  don't  imagine  I  want  to  escape  ;  I 
am  extremely  sorry  for  what  has   happened, 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  91 

but  am  ready  to  give  you  any  satisfaction  you 
think  proper. 

Col.  Follow  me  into  the  garden  then — Zounds  ! 
I  have  no  sword  about  me — Sir  John  Flower- 
dale — lend  us  a  case  of  pistols,  or  a  couple  of 
guns  ;  and,  come  and  see  fair  play. 

Cla.  My  dear  papa  ! 

Lady  M  Mr.  Oldboy,  if  you  attempt  to  fight 
I  shall  expire. 

Sir  J.  Pray,  colonel,  let  me  speak  a  word  to 
you  in  private. 

Col.  Slugs  and  a  saw-pit 

Mr.  Jes.   What  business  are  you  of,  friend  ? 

Har.  My  chief  trade,  sir,  is  plain  dealing  ; 
and,  as  that  is  a  commodity  you  have  no  reason 
to  be  very  fond  of,  I  would  not  advise  you  to 
purchase  any  of  it  by  impertinence. 

Col.  And  is  this  what  you  would  advise  me 
to? 

Sir  J.  It  is,  indeed,  my  dear  old  friend  ;  as 
things  are  situated,  there  is,  in  my  opinion,  no 
other  prudent  method  of  proceeding  ;  and  it  is 
the  method  I  would  adopt  myself,  was  I  in  your 
case. 

Col.  Why,  I  believe  you  are  in  the  right  of  it — 
say  what  you  will  for  me  then. 

Sir  J.  Well !  young  people,  I  have  been  able 
to  use  a  few  arguments,  which  have  softened 
my  neighbour  here ;  and  in  some  measure 
pacified  his  resentment.  I  find,  sir,  you  are  a 
gentleman  by  your  connections  ? 

Har.  Sir,  till  it  is  found  that  my  character  and 
family  will  bear  the  strictest  scrutiny,  I  desire 
no  favour — And  for  fortune — 


92  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 

Col  Oh  !  rot  your  fortune,  I  don't  mind  that — 
I  know  you  are  a  gentleman,  or  Dick  Rantum 
would  not  have  recommended  you.  And  so, 
Dy,  kiss  and  friends. 

Mr.  Jes.  What,  sir,  have  you  no  more  to  say 
to  the  man  who  has  used  you  so  ill  ? 

Col  Us'd  me  ill !— That's  as  I  take  it— he 
has  done  a  mettled  thing ;  and,  perhaps,  I  like 
him  the  better  for  it ;  it's  long  before  you  would 
have  spirit  enough  to  run  away  with  a  wench — 
Harman  give  me  your  hand  ;  let's  hear  no  more 
of  this  now — Sit  Jo]<fn  Flowerdale,  what  say 
you  ?  shall  we  spend  the  day  together,  and 
dedicate  it  to  love  and  harmony  ? 

Sir  J.  With  all  my  heart. 

Col.  Then  take  off  my  great  coat. 

QUARTETTO. 

TAo.     Come  then,  all  ye  social  powers. 

Shed  your  influence  o'er  ns, 
Crown  with  bliss  the  present  hourSy 

And  lighten  those  before  us. 
May  the  just,  the  generous,  kind. 

Still  see  that  you  regard  'em ; 
Jnd  Lionels  for  ever  find, 

Clarissas  to  reward  'em. 

Cla.     Love,  thy  godhead  I  adore. 

Source  of  sacred  passion  ; 
But  will  never  bow  before 

Those  idols,  wealth,  or  fashion. 
May,  like  me,  each  maiden  wife. 

From  the  fop  defend  her ; 
Learning,  sense,  and  virtue  prize, 

Jnd  scorn  the  vain  pretender. 


LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA.  93 

Har,    Why  the  'plague  should  men  be  sad. 

While  in  time  we  moulder? 
Grave,  or  gay,  or  vex'd  or  glady 

We  ev'ry  day  grow  older. 
Bring  thejiask,  the  music  brings 

Joy  will  quickly  Jind  us ; 
Drink,  and  laugh,  and  dance,  and  sing. 

And  cast  our  cares  behind  vs. 

Dia.    How  shall  T  escape — so  naught. 

On  filial  laws  to  trample  ; 
ril  e'en  curtsey,  own  my  fault. 

And  plead  papa*s  example. 
Parents  'tis  a  hint  to  you. 

Children  oft  are  shameless ; 
Oft  transgress — the  thing's  too  true. 

But  are  you  always  blameless  ? 
One  word  more  before  rve  go  ; 

Girls  and  boys  have  patience ; 
You  to  friends  must  something  owe. 

As  well  as  to  relations. 
These  kind  gentlemen  address — 

Wfiat  though  we  forgave  'cm. 
Still  they  must  be  lost,  unless 

You  lend  a  hand  to  save  'em. 


94  LIONEL  AND  CLARISSA. 


Disposition  of  the  Characters  when  the  Curtain  falls. 


'^[r COL.    Si«7* 


:ffinin. 


R.H. 


CURTAIN. 


©jcfietrs'si  ^nuion. 


THE    CRITIC; 


OR 


A  TRAGEDY  REHEARSED, 
A    DRAMATIC    PIECE  J 

3Jg  m.  U,  Sficri^an. 


WITH  PREFATORY  REMARKS. 

THE    O^^LY    EDITION    EXISTING   WHIC'    IS    FAITHFULLY 

MARKED    WITH    THE   STAGE    BUSINESS, 

AND  STAGE    DIRECTIONS, 

AS  IT  IS  PERFORMED  AT  THE 

Elittitvtn  IXognL 

By  W.  OXBERRY,  Comedian. 


BOSTON : 

PUBLISHED    BY    WELLS    AND    LILLY — COURT-STREBT  ; 
A.  T.    GOODRICH  Sz  OO. — NEW-YORK. 


Mtmntku. 


THE  CRITIC. 


JL  HIS  piece,  tRough  not  so  uniformly  brilliant  as  The 
School  for  Scandal,  is  yet  worthy  of  Sheridan,  a  name  that 
at  once  forms  the  glory  and  the  disgrace  of  the  British  na- 
tion. That  it  is  our  glory  belongs  to  the  genius  of  him  who 
bore  it !  that  it  is  our  disgrace  is  the  fault  of  the  heartless 
avarice,  the  stupid  insensibility  to  talent,  which  could  suf- 
fer such  merit  to  expire  in  unpitied  poveity  !  The  time 
was,  when  English  Nobles  and  English  Princes  were  the 
fosterers  of  genius,  but  that  time  has  past  away,  and  the 
rich  of  the  present  century  employ  their  wealth  much  m.ore 
to  their  own  satisfaction  as  well  as  glory  of  the  nation. 
They  are  of  opinion  with  Farmer  Ashfied,  who  held  genius* 
to  be  the  worst  horse  in  the  stable,  but  then  they  go  be- 
yond the  honest  farmer  in  their  practice  ;  for  it  does  not 
appear  that  he  denied  the  worthless  animal  either  food  or 
shelter,  while  these  gentlemen  will  grant  him  neither  one 
nor  the  other. 

The  plan  of  The  Critic  is  not  altogether  new  to  the  Eng- 
lish language  ;  we  have  something  very  similar  to  it  in  the 
Rehearsal  of  Buckingham,  and  the  Pasquin  of  Fielding; 
but  the  merit  of  the  execution  belongs  entirely  to  Sheridan, 
and  his  work  is  likely  to  outlive  those  of  his  predecessors 
not  only  from  its  superior  brilliancy,  but  because  it  is  less 


4 

local  in  its  language  and  character  ;  it  is  true  that  Sir  Fret- 
ful was  the  pCitrait,  and  no  very  favourable  one,  of  the 
celebiated  Cu/ioerland,  but  the  feelings  of  Sir  Fretlul  are 
thi  leeiings  ox  all  times  and  all  people.  Had  Sheridan 
given  only  a  portrait  of  peculiar  manners,  the  value  of  the 
portrait  must  have  been  in  a  great  measure  lost  with  the 
original;  but  by  paxi.ting  passions  he  has  formed  a  work 
that  is  not  likely  to  lose  any  of  its  interest  till  the  last 
spci.  k  of  taste  amongst  us  is  extinguished. — "  Yet  after  all 
it  V'  .vs  a  scurvy  tiick." — Poor  Cumberland  was  a  lively 
"Wiiter,  an  elegant  though  perhaps  not  profound  scholar, 
anc:,  if  the  cbronicies  of  the  time  lie  not,  an  amiable  and 
woii.iy  man. 

Let  the  earth  cover  and  protect  its  dead ! 
And  let  man's  breath  thither  return  in  peace 
From  whence  it  came  ;  his  spirit  to  the  skies, 
His  body  to  the  cluy  of  which  'twas  form'd, 
Impa.tea  to  hiui  as  a  loan  for  life, 
Which  he  and  all  must  render  back  again 
To  earth,  the  common  mother  of  mankind. 

Moscidon^  in  the  Observer. 

So  wrote  Cumberland  ;  let  him  have  the  benefit  of  its 
iipplication  ;  his  life  was  a  life  of  pain,  and  malice  has  been 
busy  with  him  in  the  grave  ;  weeds  have  grown  abundant- 
ly rouiKl  it,  and  holy  is  the  labour  that  plucks  a  nettle 
from  the  habitation  of  the  dead. 

The  dialogue  of  the  Critic  has  more  humour  and  less 
wit  ih.;n  the  School  for  Scandal,  in  which  respect  ii  seems 
nearly    aiiied   to  the   author's    eailiej    vvoik  oi  the  i.ivals. 


less,  though  we  expect  the  opinion  will  be  received  "  naso 
adunco,''^  that  we  think  humour  a  higher  quality  than  wit. 
The  involuntary  absurdities  of  Dangle  are  to  us  a  higher 
treat  than  all  the  smart  speeches  of  Mr.  Sneer,  who,  how- 
ever, is  a  wit  of  the  first  order  ;  for  instance,  Dangle's  dec- 
laration that  the  Interpreter  is  the  hardest  to  be  understood 
of  the  two,*  and  the  praying  chorus,  are  delightful. 

It  is  perhaps  a  misfortune  that  Sheridan  wrote  the  School 
for  Scandal  at  so  early  a  period  of  his  career  ;  the  very  ex- 
cellence of  this  piece  seems  to  have  terrified  him,  and  pa- 
ralyzed his  powers ;  having  no  one  else  to  fear,  he  feared 
himself,  but  we  have  no  right  to  complain  ;  had  he  written 
only  one  of  his  excellent  Comedies,  he  had  done  enough 
for  his  own  glory  and  that  of  his  brilliant,  though  neglected 
country. 

*  ^  portion  of  the  text  omitted  in  the  Representation, 


ilrolosttf. 


BY   THE    HONOURABLE    RICHARD   FITZPATRICK, 


The  Sister  Muses,  whom  these  realms  obey, 
Who  oer  the  Drama  hold  divided  sway, 
Sometimes,  by  evil  counsellors,  'tis  said, 
Like  earth-born  potentates  have  been  misled. 
In  those  gay  days  of  wickedness  and  wit. 
When  Villiers  criticiz'd  what  Dryden  writ, 
The  Tragic  Queen,  to  please  a  tasteless  crowd, 
Had  learn'd  to  bellow,  rant,  and  roar  so  loud, 
That  frighten'd  Nature,  her  best  friend  before, 
The  blustering  beldam's  company  forswore, 
Her  comic  Sister,  who  had  wit  'tis  true. 
With  all  her  merits,  had  her  failings  too  ; 
And  would  sometimes  in  mirthful  moments  us,e 
A  style  too  flippant  for  a  well-bred  Muse. 
Then  female  modesty  abashed  began 
To  seek  the  friendly  refuge  of  the  fan, 
Awhile  behind  that  slight  intrenchment  stood, 
'Till  driv'n  from  thence,  she  left  the  stage  for  good, 
In  our  more  pious,  and  far  chaster  times  I 
These  sure  no  longer  are  the  Muse's  crimes ! 
But  some  complain  that,  former  faults  to  shun, 
The  ri^formation  to  extremes  has  run. 
The  frantic  hero's  wild  delirium  past, 
jN'ow  insipidity  succeeds  bombast: 


PROLOGUE. 

So  slow  Melpomene's  cold  numbers  creep, 

Here  dulness  seems  her  drowsy  court  to  keep, 

And  we,  are  scarce  awake,  whilst  you  are  fast  asleep. 

Thalia,  once  so  ill  behav'd  and  rude, 

ReformVl,  is  now  become  an  arrant  prude, 

Retailing  nightly  to  the  yawning  pit, 

The  pirest  morals,  undefil'd  by  wit ! 

Our  Author  oflfers  in  these  motley  scenes, 

A  slight  remonstrance  to  the  Drama's  queen?, 

Nor  let  the  goddesses  be  over  nice  ; 

Free  spoken  subjects  give  the  best  advice. 

Although  not  quite  a  novice  in  his  trade, 
His  cause  to-night  requires  no  common  aid. 
To  this,  a  friendly,  just,  and  pow'rful  court, 

I  come  Ambassador  to  beg  support. 

Can  be  undaunted,  brave  the  critic's  rage  ? 

In  civil  broils,  with  brother  bards  engage  ? 

Hold  forth  their  errors  to  the  public  eye, 

Nay  inore,  e'en  Newspapers  themselves  defy  ? 

Say,  must  his  single  arm  encounter  all  ? 

By  numbers  vanquish'd,  e'en  the  brave  may  fall  ; 

And  though  no  leader  should  success  distrust, 

Whose  troops  are  willing,  and  whose  cause  is  just  ;• 

To  bid  such  hosts  of  angry  foes  defiance, 

His  chief  dependance  must  be,  your  alliance. 


STime  of  UtiJvrsentatCow, 


The  time  this  piece  takes  in  representation,  is  one  hour 
and  three  quarters. 


Stage  Directions. 


By  R.H. --  is  meant  - Right  Hand. 

L.H. ••-- Left  Hand. 

s.E. Second  Entrance. 

tr.E. Upper  Entrance. 

3T.D. Middle  Door. 

D.F. Door  in  Flat. 

R.H.D. Right  Hand  Door. 

L.H.D. Left  Hand  Door. 


^osttitnc. 


DANGLE. 
Blue  coat,  white  waistcoat  and  breeches. 

SNEER. 
Brown  coat,  white  waiscoat,  and  black  breeches. 

PUFF 
Blue  coat,  white  waistcoat,  and  drab  colourrtl  breeches. 

SIR  FRETFUL  PLAGIARY. 
Half  dre?s  suit. 

MRS.  DANGLE. 
Fashionable  morning  dress. 

LORD  BURLEIGH. 
Black  velvet  doublet,  trunks  aiid  cloak. 

EARL  LEICESTER. 
Brown— Ibid. 

SIR  CHRISTOtHER  HATTON. 
Blue— ibid. 

BEEFEATER. 
Beefeater's  dress. 

WHISKERANDOS, 
Blue  and  orange  Spanish  dress. 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH. 

Buff  and  scarlett— ibid. 

TILBIRINA. 
First  dress.— Brocade  petticoat,  body,  and  tiain.— Second  dress.— White 
satin,  and  \\hite  muslin  veil. 

CONFIDANT 
Firat  dress.— Brocade  gown.— St  cond  dress— White  muslin, 
NIECES. 
Petticoats,  body's,  and  trains. 


Jietisonis  llrijrtsentcU. 


Dangle  -  ,  -  -  . 
Sneer  -  -  .  -  - 
Sir  Fretful  Plagiary 
Under  Prompter  - 
Puff 

Mrs>  Dangle  .    -    - 


Drunj.lane. 
Mr.  Palmer. 
Mr.  Powell. 
Mr  Dowton. 
Mr  Maddocks. 
Mr.  Harley. 


Covent'garden. 
Mr.  Connor. 
Mr.  Egerton. 
Mr  W  Farren. 
Ml-.  King. 
Mr.  Jones. 


Mrs  Sparks.  Mrs.  Conner. 


Characters  of  the  Tragedy. 


Lord  Burleigh  -  -  .  - 
Governor  of  Tilbury  Fort 
Earl  of  Lckester  -  -  - 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  •  • 
Sir  Christopher  Hatton  - 
Master  of  Vie  Horse  -  • 
Beefeater  -.---. 
Don  Ferolo  Whiskerandos 


First  Niece  - 

Second  Niece  - 

Confidant    -  - 

Tilburina  -  - 


-  Mr.  Marshall. 

-  Mr.  Can-. 

-  Mr   Coveney. 

-  Mr.  Hughes. 

-  Mr.  Minton. 

-  Mr.  Ebsworth. 

-  Mr.  Smith. 

-  Mr.  Oxbervy. 

-  Miss  Ivers. 

-  Miss  Cooke. 

-  Miss  Tidswell. 

-  Mi-s.  Orger 


Mr.  Williams. 
Mr.  Comer. 
Mr.  JefFeries. 
Mr.  Treby. 
Mr.  Menage. 
Mr  Atlvins. 
Mr.  J  Russell. 
Mr.  Liston. 

Mrs.  Coates. 
Mrs.  Sexton. 

Mrs.  Gibbs. 


Guards,  Constables  ^  Servants,  Choi'us,  Rivert,  Attendants,  &c,  &c. 


THE  CRITIC. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— JV/r.  and  Mrs.  Dangle  at  Breakfast, 
and  reading  JVewspapers. 

Dangle  (^Reading,  l.h.) 

'■  Brutus  to  Lord  North.' — '  Letter  the  Second 
'  on  the  State  of  the  Army.' — Pshaw  !  '  To  the 
'  first  L—  dash  D  of  the  A—  dash  Y.'— '  Genu- 
'  ine  extract  of  a  Letter  from  St.  Kitt's.' — '  Cox- 
'  heath  intelhgence.' — '  It  is  now  confidently  as- 
'  serted  that  Sir  Charles  Hardy.' — Pshaw  ! — No- 
thing bat  about  the  tleet  and  the  nation  ! — and  I 
hate  all  politics  but  theatrical  pohtics. — Where's 
the  Morning  Chronicle  ? 

Mrs.  D.  (r.h.)  Yes,  that's  your  Gazette. 

Dan.  So.  here  we  have  it. — 
'  Theatrical  intelligence  extraordinary. "^ — '  We  hear 
'  there  is  a  new  tragedy  in   rehearsal  at  Drury- 
^  lane  theatre,  caii'd  the  Spanish  Armada,  said  to 
*  be  written  by  Mr.  Pufl",  a  gentleman  well  known 


12  THE  CRITIC. 

'  in  the  theatrical  world ;  if  we  may  allow  our- 
'  selves  to  give  credit  to  the  report  of  the  per- 
'  formers,  who,  truth  to  say,  are  in  general  but 
'  indifferent  judges,  this  piece  abounds  with  the 
'  most  striking  and  received  beauties  of  mode'rn 
'  composition." — So  !  1  am  very  glad  my  friend 
Puff's  tragedy  is  in  such  forwardness. — Mrs. 
Dangle,  my  dear,  you  will  be  very  glad  to  hear 
that  Puff's  tragedy — 

Mrs.  D.  Lord,  Mr.  Dangle,  why  will  you 
plague  me  about  such  nonsense  ? — Now  the 
plays  are  begun,  I  shall  have  no  peace. — Isn't  it 
sufficient  to  make  yourself  ridiculous  by  your 
passion  for  the  theatre,  without  continually  teaz- 
ing  me  to  join  you? — Why  can  t  you  ride  your 
hobby-horse  without  desiring  to  place  me  on  a 
pillion  behind  you,  Mr.  Dangle  ? 

Dan.  Nay,  my  dear,  I  was  only  going  to  read — 

Mrs.  D.  No,  no  ;  you  will  never  read  any 
thing  that's  worth  listening  to :— you  hate  to 
hear  about  your  country  ;  there  are  letters  ev- 
ery day  with  Roman  signatures,  demonstrating 
the  certainty  of  an  invasion,  and  proving  that 
the  nation  is  utterly  undone. — But  you  never  will 
read  any  thing  to  entertain  one. 

Dan.  What  has  a  woman  to  do  with  politics, 
Mrs.  Dangle  ? 

Mrs.  D.  And  what  have  you  to  do  with  the 
theatre,  Mr.  Dangle  ?- Why  should  you  affect 
the  character  of  a  critic  ?  I  have  no  patience 
with  you  ! — haven't  you  made  yourself  the  jest 
of  all  your  acquaintance  by  your  interference  in 
matters  where  you  have  no  business  ? — Are  not 


THE  CRITIC.  13 

you  call'd  a  theatrical  Quidnunc,  and  a  mock 
Maecenas  to  second-hand  authors  ? 

Dan.  True ;  my  power  with  the  managers  is 
pretty  notorious ;  but  is  it  no  credit  to  have  ap- 
plications from  all  quarters  for  my  interest? — 
From  lords  to  recommend  tiddlers,  from  ladies  to 
get  boxes,  from  authors  to  get  answers,  and  from 
actors  to  get  engagements  ? 

Mrs.  D,  Yes,  truly  ;  you  have  contrived  to 
get  a  share  in  all  the  plague  and  trouble  of  the- 
atrical property,  without  the  profit,  or  even  the 
credit  of  the  abuse  that  attends  it. 

Dan.  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Dangle,  you  are  no  lo- 
ser by  it,  however;  you  have  all  the  advantages 
of  it:  mightn't  yoij,  last  winter,  have  had  the 
reading  of  the  new  Pantomime  a  fortnight  pre- 
vious to  its  performance? — x\nd  doesn't  Mr. 
Spring  let  you  take  places  for  a  play  before  it  is 
advertis'd,  and  set  you  down  for  a  box  for  every 
new  piece  through  the  season  ? — And  did'nt  my 
friend,  Mr.  Smatter,  dedicate  his  last  farce  to 
you  at  my  particular  request,  Mrs.  Dangle  ? 

Mrs.  D.  Yes  :  but  wasn't  the  farce  damn'd, 
Mr.  Dangle  ? — And  to  be  sure  it  is  extremely 
pleasant  to  have  one's  house  made  the  motley 
rendezvous  of  all  the  lacqueys  of  literature  :  the 
very  high  change  of  trading  authors  and  jobbing 
critics  ! — Yes,  my  drawing-room  is  an  absolute 
register-office  for  candidate  actors,  and  poets 
without  character;  then  to  be  continually  alarm- 
ed vvith  Misses  and  Ma'ams  piping  hvsteric  chan- 
ges on  Juliet's  and  Dorindas,  Pollys  and  Ophe- 
lias ;  and  the   very  furniture   trembling  at  the 


14  THE  CRITIC. 

probationary  starts  and  unprovok'd  rants  of 
would-be  Richards  and  Hamlets  ! — And  what  is 
worse  than  all,  now  that  the  manager  has  mono- 
polizM  the  opera-house,  haven't  we  the  Signers 
and  Signoras  caUing  here,  sliding  their  smooth 
semibreves,  and  garbhng  glib  divisions  in  their 
outlandish  throats  ; — with  foreign  emissaries  and 
French  spies,  for  aught  I  know,  disguised  like 
fiddlers  and  figure  dancers  ! 

Dan.  Mercy  :   Mrs.  Dangle  ! 

Mrs.  D.  And  to  employ  yourself  so  idly  at  such 
an  alarming  crisis  as  this  too — when,  if  you  had 
the  least  spirit,  you  would  have  been  at  the  head 
of  one  of  the  Westminster  associations — or  trailing 
a  volunteer  pike  in  the  Artillery  Ground  !— But 
you — o'my  conscience,  I  believe  if  the  French 
were  landed  to-morrow,  your  first  inquiry  would 
be,  whether  they  had  brought  a  theatrical  troop 
with  them. 

Dan.  Mrs.  Dangle,  it  does  not  signify — I  say 
the  stage  is  '  the  Mirror  of  Nature,'  and  the  ac- 
tors are  '  the  abstract,  and  brief  Chronicles  of  the 
time  :' — and  pray  what  can  a  man  of  sense  study 
better  ?  Besides,  you  will  not  easily  persuade  me 
that  there  is  no  credit  or  importance  in  being  at 
the  head  of  a  band  of  critics,  who  take  upon  them 
to  decide  for  the  whole  town,  whose  opinion  and 
patronage  all  writers  solicit,  and  whose  recom- 
mendation no  manager  dares  refuse  ! 

Mrs.  D.  Ridiculous — Both  managers  and  au- 
thors of  the  least  merit  laugh  at  your  preten- 
sions.— The    public   is    their    critic, without 

whose  fair  approbation  they  know  no  play  can 


THE  CRITIC.  15 

rest  on  the  stage,  and  with  whose  applause  they 
welcome  such  attacks  as  yours,  and  laugh  at  the 
mahce  of  them,  where  they  can  t  at  the  wit. 
Daiu  Very  well, — madam,  very  well. 

Enter  Servant,  l.h. 

Serv.  Mr.  Sneer,  sir,  to  wait  on  you. 

Dan.  O,  show  Mr.  Sneer  up.  [Exit  Ser- 
vant^ l.h]  Plague  on't,  now  we  must  appear 
loving  and  aflfectionate.  or  Sneer  will  hitch  us 
into  a  story, 

Mrs.  D.  With  all  ray  heart ;  you  can't  he  more 
ridiculous  than  you  are. 

Dan.   You  are  enough  to  provoke — 

Enter  Sneer,  l.h. 

Ha  !  my  dear  Sneer,  I  am  vastly  glad  to  see  you. 
My  dear,  here's  Mr.  Sneer. 

J[lrs.  D.  Good  morning  to  you,  sir. 

Dan.  Mrs.  Dangle  and  1  have  been  diverting 
ourselves  with  the  papers. — Pray,  Sneer,  won't 
you  go  to  Drury-lane  theatre  the  first  night  of 
Puff's  tragedy  ? 

Sneer.  V  es  ;  but  I  suppose  one  shan't  be  able 
to  get  in,  for  on  the  first  night  of  a  new  piece 
they  always  fill  the  house  with  orders  to  support 
it.  But  here,  {..'angle,  I  have  brought  you  two 
p.ecfs,  one  of  which  you  must  exert  yourself  to 
make  the  managers  accept,  I  can  tell  you  that, 
for  't's  written  by  a  person  of  consequence, 

Dan.  So  !  now  my  plagues  are  beginning. 


1  THE  CRITIC. 

Sneer.  Aye,  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  now  you'll  be 
happy.  Why,  my  dear  Dangie,  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  see  how  you  enjoy  your  volunteer  fatigue,  and 
your  solicited  solicitations. 

Dan.  It's  a  great  trouble  ; — yet,  egad,  it's 
pleasant  too. — Why,  sometimes  of  a  morning,  I 
have  a  dozen  people  call  on  me  at  breakfast 
time,  whose  faces  1  never  saw  before,  nor  ever 
desire  to  see  again. 

Sneer.  J  hat  must  be  very  pleasant  indeed! 

Dan.  And  not  a  week  but  !  receive  fifty  let- 
ters, and  not  a  Une  in  them  about  any  business 
of  my  own. 

Sneer.  An  amusing  correspondence  ! 

Dan.  {Reading.)  "  Bursts  mto  tears,  and  exit." 
What,  is  this  a  tragedy  ! 

Sneer.  No,  that  s  a  genteel  comedy,  not  a 
translation, — only  taken  from  the  French  ;  it  is 
written  in  a  style  whi«  h  they  have  lately  tried 
to  run  down  ;  the  true  sentimental,  and  nothing 
ridiculous  in  it  from  the  beginning  to  the  end. 

Mrs.  D.  Well,  if  they  had  kept  to  that,  I 
should  not  have  been  such  an  enemy  to  the  stage, 
— there  was  some  edification  to  be  got  from 
those  pieces,  Mr.  Sneer. 

Sneer.  [Crosses  to  centre.)  I  am  quite  of  your 
opinion,  Mrs.  Dangie  ;  the  theatre,  in  proper 
hands,  might  certainly  be  made  the  school  of 
morality  ;  but  now,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  people 
seem  to  go  there  principally  for  their  entertain- 
ment. 

Mrs.  D.  It  would  have  been  more  to  the  cre- 
dit of  the  managers  to  have  kept  it  in  the  other 
line. 


THE  CRITIC.  17 

Sneer.  Undoubtedly,  madam,  and  hereafter 
perhaps  to  have  had  it  recorded,  that  in  the 
midst  of  a  luxurious  and  dissipated  age,  they 
preserv'd  tzvo  houses  in  the  capital,  where  the 
conversation  was  always  moral  at  least,  if  not 
entertaining  ! 

Dmi.  Now,  egnd,  I  think  the  worst  alteration 
is  in  the  nicety  of  the  audience.  No  double  en- 
tendre, no  smart  inuendo  admitted  ;  even  Van- 
brngh  and  Congreve  obliged  to  undergo  a  bung- 
ling reformation  ! 

Sneer.  Yes,  and  our  prudery  in  this  respect  is 
just  on  a  par  with  the  artificial  bashfulness  of  a 
courtezan  who  increases  the  blush  upon  her 
cheek  in  an  exact  proportion  to  the  diminution 
of  her  modesty. 

Dan.  Sneer  canH  even  give  the  public  a  good 
word  ! — But  what  have  we  here  ? — This  seems 
a  very  odd — 

Sneer.  O,  that's  a  comedy,  on  a  very  new 
plan  ;  replete  with  wit  and  mirth,  yet  of  a  most 
serious  moral  !  You  see  it  is  call'd  "  The  Re- 
formed Housebreaker  ;"  where,  by  the  mere 
force  of  humour,  housebreaking  is  put  into  so 
ridiculous  a  light,  that  if  the  piece  has  its  proper 
run,  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  bolts  and  bars  will 
be  entirely  useless  by  the  end  of  the  season. 

Dan.  Egad,  this  is  new  indeed  ! 

Sneer.  Yes  ;  it  is  written  by  a  particular  friend 
of  mine,  who  has  discovered  that  the  follies  and 
foibles  of  society,  are  subjects  unworthy  the  no- 
tice of  the  comic  muse,  who  should  be  taught  to 
stoop    only   at   the    greater  vices  and  blacker 


18  THE  CRITIC. 

crimes  of  humanity  ; — gibbeting  capital  offences 
in  five  acts,  and  pilioring  petty  larcenies  in  two. 
— In  short,  his  idea  is  to  dramatize  the  penal 
laws,  and  make  the  stage  a  court  of  ease  to  the 
Old  Bailey. 

Dan.  It  is  truly  moral. 

Enter  Servant,  l.h. 

Serv.  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary,  sir. 

Dan.  Beg  him  to  walk  up.  [Exit  Servant^  l.h.] 
jSTow,  Mrs.  Dangle,  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary  is  an  au" 
thor  to  your  own  taste. 

Mrs.  D.  I  confess  he  is  a  favourite  of  mine, 
because  every  body  else  abuses  him. 

Sneer.  Very  much  to  the  credit  of  your  chari- 
ty, madam,  if  not  of  your  judgment. 

Dan.  But,  egad,  he  allows  no  merit  to  any  au- 
thor but  himself,  that's  the  truth  on't ;  tho'  he's 
my  friend. 

Sneer.  Never. — He  is  as  envious  as  an  old 
maid  verging  on  the  desperation  of  six-and-thirty : 
and  then  the  insidi^ous  humility  with  which  he 
seduces  you  to  give  a  free  opinion  on  any  of  his 
works,  can  be  exceeded  onl}  by  the  petulant  ar- 
rogance with  which  he  is  sure  to  reject  your  ob- 
servations. 

Dan.  Very  true,  egad  ;  tho'  he's  my  friend. 

Sneer.  Then  his  affected  contempt  of  all  news- 
paper strictures  ;  tho',  at  the  same  time,  he  is 
the  sorest  man  alive,  and  shrinks  like  scorch'd 
parchment  from  the  fiery  ordeal  of  true  criti- 
cism :  yet  is  he  so  covetous  of  popularity,  that 


THE  CRITIC.  l*^ 

he  had  rather  be  abused  than  not  mentioned  at 
all. 

Dan.  There-s  no  denying  it ; — the'  he  is  my 
friend. 

Sneer.  You  have  read  the  tragedy  he  has  just 
finish''d,  haven't  you  ? 

Dan.  O  yes;  he  sent  it  to  me  yesterday. 

Sneer.  Well,  and  you  think  it  execrable,  don't 
you? 

Dan.  Why,  between  ourselves,  egad  I  must 
own, — tho'  he's  ray  friend, — that  it  is  one  ol'  the 
most-  He's  here,  (Aside.) — finished  and  r,  ost  ad- 
mirable perform 

Sir  F.  {^'tMthout.)  l.h.)  Mr.  Sneer  with  him  did 
you  say  ? 

Enter  Sir  Fretful,  l.h. 

Ah,  my  dear  friend  ! — Egad,  we  were  just  speak- 
ing of  your  tragedy. — Admirable,  Sir  Fretful,  ad- 
mirable I 

Sneer.  You  never  did  any  thing  beyond  it.  Sir 
Fretful, — never  in  your  life. 

Sir  F.  {Crosses  to  Centre.)  You  make  me 
extremely  happy  ;  for,  without  a  compliment, 
my  dear  Sneer,  there  is'nt  a  man  in  the  world 
whose  judgment  I  value  as  I  do  your's ; — and 
Mr.  Dangie's. 

Mrs.  D.  They  are  only  laughing  at  you,  Sir 
Fretful ;  for  it  was  but  just  now-  that — 

Dan.  Mrs.  Dangle  ! — Ah,  Sir  Fretful,  yon 
know  Mrs.  Dangle. — My  friend  Sneer  was  ral- 
lying just  now. — He  knows  how  she  admires 
you,  and — 


20  THE  CRITIC. 

Sir  F.  O  Lord,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Sneer  has  more 
taste  and  sincerity  than  lo — A  daoinM  double- 
faced  feUow    [Aside  . 

Da  .  Yes,  yes, — Sneer  will  jest, — but  a  better 
humour'd — 

Sir  F.  O,  I  know — 

Dan.  He  has  a  ready  turn  for  ridicule, — his 
wit  costs  him  nothins^. — 

Sir  F.  No  egad, — Or  I  should  wonder  how 
he  came  by  it.  (Aside.) 

Mrs.  D.  Because  his  jest  is  always  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  fnend. 

Dan.  But,  Sir  Fretful,  have  you  sent  your 
play  to  the  managers  yet  ? — or  can  I  be  of  any 
service  to  you  ? 

Sir  F.  ]\o,  no,  I  thank  yen  :  I  believe  the 
piece  had  sufficient  recommendation  with  it. —I 
thank  you  tho" — 1  sent  it  to  the  manager  of 
Covent  Garden  Theatr^^  this  morning. 

Sneer.  I  should  have  thouij^ht  ntnv,  that  it  might 
have  been  cast  (as  the  actors  call  it,)  better  at 
Drnry  Lane. 

»S'2>  F.  O  lud  !  no — never  send  a  play  there 
while  I  live, — harkee  !  [Whispers  Sneer.) 

Sneer.  Writes  himself ! — i  know  he  does — 

Sir  F.  \  say  nothing — I  take  awa\  from  no 
inan''s  merit — am  hurt  at  no  man's  good  fortrme 
—  I  say  nothing — but  this  I  will  say — through 
all  my  knowledge  of  life,  I  have  observed — 
that  there  is  not  a  passion  so  strongly  rooted  in 
the  human  heart  as  envy  ! 

Sneer.  I  believe  you  have  reason  for  what 
you  say,  indeed. 


THE  CRITIC.  21 

Sir  F.  Besides  ; — I  can  tell  you  it  is  not 
always  so  safe  to  leave  a  play  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  write  themselves 

Sneer.  VV  hat,  they  may  steal  from  them,  hey, 
my  dear  Plagiary  ? 

Sir  F.  Steal ! — to  be  sure  they  may  ;  and, 
egad,  serve  your  best  thoughts  as  gypsies  do 
stolen  children,  disfigure  them  to  make  em  pass 
for  their  own. 

Sneer.  But  your  present  work  is  a  sacrifice  to 
Melpomene,  and  he  you  know  never  — 

Sir  F.  That's  no  security. —  \  dext'rous  pla- 
giarist may  do  any  thing. — Why,  sir,  for  aught 
1  know,  he  might  take  out  some  of  the  best 
th;nef?5  in  my  tragedy,  and  put  them  into  his  own 
comedy. 

Sneer.  That  might  be  done,  i  dare  be  sworn. 

Sir  F.  And  then,  if  such  a  person  g»ves  you 
the  least  hint  or  assistance,  he  is  devilish  apt  to 
take  the  merit  of  the  whole. — 

Dan    If  it  succeeds. 

Sir  F.  Aye, — but  with  regard  to  this  piece, 
I  think  I  can  hit  that  gentleman,  for  1  can  safely 
swear  he  never  read  it. 

Sneer.  I'll  tell  you  how  you  may  hurt  him 
more — 

Sir  F    How  ?— 

Sneer.  Swear  he  wrote  it. 

Sir  F.  Plague  on't  now,  Sneer,  I  shall  take  it 
ill. — I  believe  you  want  to  take  away  my  char- 
acter as  an  author  ! 

Sneer.  Then  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  very 
much  oblig^'d  to  me. 


22  THE  CRITIC. 

Sir  F.  Hev  !— sir  !— 

Dan.  O  you  know,  he  never  means  what  he 
says. 

Sir  F.  Sincerely  then — you  do  like  the  piece  ? 

Sneer.  Wonderfully  I 

Sir  F.  But  come  now,  there  must  be  some- 
thini»"  that  you  think  might  be  mended,  hey  ? — 
Mr.  Dangle,  has  nothing;  struck  you  ? 

Dan.  Why  faith,  it  is  but  an  ungracious  thing 
for  the  most  part  to — 

Sir  F.  With  most  authors  it  is  just  so  indeed  ; 
they  are  in  general  -strangely  tenacious ! — hut, 
for  my  part,  I  am  nev  r  so  well  pleased  as  when 
a  judjcious  critic  pomts  out  any  delect  to  me; 
for  what  is  the  purpose  of  showing  a  work  to  a 
friend,  if  you  don't  mean  to  profit  by  h;s  opinion? 

Sneer.  Very  true  -  V^  hy  then,  tho'  I  seriously 
adm;re  the  piece  upon  the  whole,  yet  there  is 
one  small  objection  ;  which,  if  you  11  give  me 
leave,  Til  mention. 

Sir  F.  Sir  you  can''t  oblige  me  more. 

Siieer.  I  think  it  wants  incident 

Sir  F.  Good  god  I — you  surprise  me! — wants 
incident ! — 

Sneer.  Yes ;  I  own  1  think  the  incidents  are 
too  iew. 

.Mr  F.  Good  god !  believe  me,  Mr.  Sneer, 
there  is  no  person  for  whose  judgment  I  have  a 
more  implicit  deference,  — but  I  protest  to  you, 
Mr.  "^neer,  I  am  only  apprehensive  that  the  in- 
cidents are  loo  crowded. — My  dear  Dangle,  how 
does  .t  stnke  you  ? 

Dan.    Really  I  can't  agree   with  my  friend 


THE  CRITIC.  23 

Sneer. — I  think  the  plot  quit  sufficient  ;  and  the 
four  first  acts  by  many  degrees  the  best  I  ever 
read  or  saw  in  my  life.  If  I  might  venture  to 
sugsrest  any  thing,  it  is  that  the  interest  rather 
fails  off  in  the  fifth. 

Sir  F.  Rises ;  I  believe  you  mean,  sir. 

Dan.  No ;   I  donU  upon  my  word. 

Sir  F.  Yes,  yes,  you  do  upon  my  soul ; — it 
certainly  don't  fall  off,  I  assure  you  ;  no,  no,  it 
don't  fall  off 

Dan,  Now,  Mrs.  Dangle,  did'nt  you  say  it 
struck  you  in  the  same  light? 

{Dangle  and  Sneer  retire  vp  the  stage.^ 

Mrs.  D.  No,  indeed,  I  did  not : — I  did  not  see 
a  fault  in  any  part  of  the  play  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end. 

Sir  F.  Upon  ray  soul  the  women  are  the  best 
judges  after  all  I 

Airs.  D.  Or  if  I  made  any  objection,  I  am 
sure  it  was  to  nothing  in  the  piece  ;  but  that  I 
was  afraid  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a  little  too  long. 

Sir  F.  Pray,  mndam,  do  you  speak  as  to  dura- 
tion of  time  ;  or  do  you  mean  that  the  story  is 
tediously  spun  out  ? 

Mrs.  D.  O  lud  !  no. — I  speak  only  with  re- 
ference to  the  usual  length  of  acting  plays. 

Sir  F  Then  I  am  very  happy, — very  happy 
indeed, — because  the  play  is  a  short  play,  a  re- 
markable short  play:--l  should  not  venture  to 
differ  with  a  lady  on  a  point  of  taste;  but,  on 
these  occasions,  the  watch,  you  know,  is  the 
critic. 

Mrs.  D.  Then,  I  suppose,  it   must  have  been 


24  THE  CRITIC. 

Mr.  Dangle's  drawling  manner  of  reading  it  to 
me. 

Sir  F.  O,  if  Mr.  Dangle  read  it !  that's  quite 
anotlier  afiair  ;— but  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Dangle, 
the  first  evening  you  can  spare  me  three  hours 
and  an  half,  I'll  undertake  to  read  you  the  whole 
from  beginning  to  end,  with  the  prologue  and 
epilogue,  and  allow  time  for  the  music  betweea 
the  acts. 

Mrs.  D.  I  hope  to  see  it  on  the  stage  next. 

[£xif,  R.H, 

Dan.  (^Dangle  and  Sneer  come  down,  l.h. 
and  R.H.)  Well,  Sir  Fretful,  I  wish  you  may  be 
able  to  get  rid  as  easily  of  the  newspaper  criti- 
cisms as  you  do  of  ours.— 

Sir  F.  The  newspapers!- — sir,  they  are  the 
most  villanous — licentious — abominable — infer- 
nal— not  that  I  ever  read  them — no — I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  look  mto  a  newspaper. 

Dan.  You  are  quite  right ; — for  it  certainly 
must  hurt  an  author  of  delicate  feelings  to  see 
the  liberties  they  take. 

Sir  F  No  ! — quite  the  contrary ; — their  abuse 
is,  in  fact,  the  best  panegyric ;  1  like  it  of  all 
things. — An  author's  reputation  is  only  in  danger 
from  their  support. 

Sneer.  Why,  that's  true  ;--and  that  attack  now 
on  you  the  other  day — 

Sir  F.  What  ?  where  ? 

Dan.  Aye,  you  mean  in  the  paper  of  Thurs- 
day ;  it  was  completely  ill-natured  to  be  sure. 

Sir  F.  O,  so  much  the  better ; — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
— I  wou'dn't  have  it  otherwise. 


THE  CRITIC.  2& 

Dan.  Certainly  it  is  only  to  be  laugh'd  at  j 
for  — 

Sir  F.  You  don't  happen  to  recollect  ivhat  the 
fellow  said,  do  you  ? 

Sneer.  Pray,  Dangle ; — Sir  Fretful  seems  a 
little  anxious — 

Sir  F.  O  lud,  no  I — anxious, — not  I, — not  the 
least. — I — but  one  may  as  well  hear  you  know. 

Dan.  Sneer,  do  you  recollect  ? — make  out 
something.  {Aside.) 

Sneer  I  will.  {To  Dangle.) — Yes,  yes,  1  re- 
member perfectly. 

Sir  F.  Well,  and  pray  now  ; — not  that  it  signi- 
fies ; — what  might  the  gentleman  say  ? 

Sneer.  Why,  he  roundly  asserts  that  you  have 
not  the  slightest  invention,  or  original  genius 
whatever;  though  you  are  the  greatest  traducer 
of  ail  other  authors  living. 

Sir  F.  Ha  !  ha  I  ha  !-   very  good  ! 

Sneer.  That  as  to  comed}',  you  have  not  one 
idea  of  your  own,  he  beheves,  even  in  your 
common  place-book, — where  stray  jokes,  and 
pilfered  witticisms  are  kept  with  as  much  method 
as  the  ledger  of  the  lost  and  stolen  office. 

Sir  F.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — very  pleasant ! 

Sneer  Nay,  that  you  are  so  unlucky  as  not  to 
have  the  skill  even  to  steal  with  taste  : — but  that 
you  glean  from  the  refuse  of  obscure  volumes, 
where  more  judicious  plagiarists  have  been  be- 
fore you  ;  so  that  the  body  of  your  work  is  a 
composition  of  dregs  and  sediments,— hke  a  bad 
tavern's  worst  wine. 

Sir  F.  Ha !  ha ! 
3 


26  THE  CRITIC. 

Sneer.  In  your  more  serious  efforts,  he  says, 
your  bombast  would  be  less  intolerable,  if  the 
thoughts  were  ever  suited  to  the  expression ; 
but  the  homeliness  of  the  sentiment  stares  thro' 
the  fantastic  incumbrance  of  its  tine  language, 
like  a  clown  in  one  of  the  new  uniforms  ! 

Sir  F.   Ha!   ha! 

Sneer.  That  your  occasional  tropes  and  flowers 
suit  the  general  coarseness  of  your  stile,  as  tam- 
bour sprigs  would  a  ground  of  linsey-woolsey  ; 
while  your  imitations  of  vShakspeare  resemble 
the  mimicry  of  Falstaff"'s  page,  and  are  about  as 
near  the  standard  of  the  original. 

Sir  F.   Ha  !— 

Sneer.  In  short,  that  even  the  finest  passages 
you  steal  are  of  no  service  to  you ;  for  the  po- 
verty of  your  own  language  prevents  their  as- 
similating; so  that  they  lie  on  the  surface  like 
lumps  of  marl  on  a  barren  moor,  encumbering 
what  it  is  not  in  their  power  to  fertilize  ! — 

Sir  F.  [After  great  ag'tation.)  Now  another 
person  would  be  vex'd  at  this. 

S7ieer.  Oh !  but  I  wouldn't  have  told  you,  only 
to  divert  you. 

Sir  F.  I  know  it, — 1  am  diverted, — ha!  ha! 
ha  I — not  the  least  invention  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  very 
good  ! — very  good  ! 

Sneer.  Yes,  -  no  genius  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Dan.  A  severe  rogue  I  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  but  3'ou 
are  quite  right,  Sir  Fretful,  never  to  read  such 
nonsense. 

Sir  F.  ''0  be  sure  ; — for  if  there  is  any  thing 
to  one's  praise,  it  is  a  foolish  vanity  to  be  grati- 


THE  CRfTIC.  27 

tied  at  it,  and  if  it  is  abuse, — why  one  is  always 
sure  lo  hear  of  it  from  one  damn'd  good-iiatur- 
ed  friend  or  another  ! 

Enter  Servant,  l.h. 

Serv.  Mr.  Puff,  sir,  has  sent  word  that  the  last 
rehearsal  is  to  be  this  morning,  and  that  he'll 
caii  on  you  presently. 

Dan.  i  hat's  true — I  shall  certainly  be  at 
home.  [Exit  Servant^  l.h.j  Now,  Sir  Fretful,  if 
you  have  a  mind  to  have  justice  done  you  in  the 
way  of  answer, — egad,  Mr.  Puff's  your  man 

Sir  F.  Pshaw  !  sir,  why  should  !  wish  to  have 
it  answered,  when  1  tell  you  1  am  pleased  at  it? 

Dan.  True,  ;  had  forgot  that.  But  I  hope 
3'ou  are  not  fretted  a?  what  Mr.  Sneer — 

.Sir  F  Zounds  !  no,  Mr.  Dangie,  don't  1  tell 
you  these  tilings  never  fret  me  in  the  least. 

Dan.  Xay  I  only  thought — 

Sir  F.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Dangle  'tis 
damn'd  affronting  in  you  to  suppose  that  I  am 
hurt,  when  I  teil  you  1  am  not. 

Sneer.  But  why  so  warm.  Sir  Fretful  ? 

Sir  F  Gadshfe  !  Mr.  Sneer,  you  are  as  absurd 
as  '-angle  ;  how  often  luw^t  I  repeat  it  to  you, 
that  nothing  can  vex  me  but  your  supposing  it 
possible  for  me  to  mmd  the  damn'd  nonsense  you 
have  been  repeat-ng  to  me  ! — and  let  me  tell 
you,  if  you  continue  to  believe  this,  you  must 
mean  to  msnlt  me,  gentlemen  ;  and  then  your 
disr;  spect  will  affect  me  no  more  than  the  Uf  ws- 
paper  criticisms ; — and  1  shall  treat  it — with  ex- 


28  THE  CRITIC. 

actly  the  same  calm  indifference  and  philosophic 
contempt ; — and  so  your  servant.  [Exit^  l.h. 

Sneer.  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  poor  sir  Fretful !  now 
will  he  go  and  vent  his  philosophy  in  anonymous 
abuse  of  all  modern  critics  and  authors ;  but, 
Dangle,  you  must  get  your  friend  Puff  to  take 
me  to  the  rehearsal  of  his  tragedy. 

Dan.  I"  11  answer  forU  ;  he'll  thank  you  for  de- 
siring it.  But  come  and  help  me  to  judge  of 
this  musical  family  ;  they  are  recommended  by 
people  of  consequence,  I  assure  you 

Sneer.  I  am  at  your  disposal  the  whole  morn- 
ing;— but  I  thought  you  had  been  a  decided 
cntic  in  music,  as  well  as  in  literature. 

Dan.  So  I  am — but  1  have  a  bad  ear.  Tfaith, 
Sneer,  tho',  I  am  afraid  we  were  a  little  too 
severe  on  sir  Fretful ; — tho'  he  is  my  friend. 

Sneer.  Why,  'tis  certam,  that  unnecessarily  to 
mortify  the  vanity  of  any  writer,  is  a  cruelty 
which  mere  dulness  never  can  deserve ;  but 
where  a  base  and  persronal  malignity  usurps  the 
place  of  literary  emi-lation,  the  aggressor  de- 
serves neither  quarter  nor  pity. 

Dan.  That's  true,  egad  ! — tho'  he's  my  friend  ! 

Re-enter  Servant,  l.h. 

Serv.  Mr.  Puff.  sir.  [£xi7,  l.h. 

Dan.  My  dear  Puff! 

Enter  Puff,  I.h. 
Fuff.  My  dear  Langie,  how  is  it  with  you  ? 


THE  CRITIC.  29 

Dan.  Mr.  Sneer,  give  me  leave  to  introduce 
Mr.  Puff  to  you. 

Puff.  Mr.  Sneer  is  this  ?  (^Crosses  to  Centre.) 
Sir,  he  is  a  gentleman  whom  I  have  long  panted 
for  the  honour  of  knowing  — a  gentleman  whose 
critical  talents  and  transcendant  judgment — 

Sneer    Dear  sir — 

Dan.  Nay,  don't  be  modest,  Sneer,  my  friend 
Puff  only  talks  to  you  in  the  style  of  his  profes- 
sion. 

Sneer.  His  profession  ! 

Puff.  Yes,  sir;  I  make  no  secret  of  the  trade 
I  follow — among  friends  and  brother  authors, 
Dam^-le  knows  I  love  to  be  frank  on  the  subject, 
and  to  advertise  myself  viva  voce — I  am.  sir,  a 
practitioner  in  panegyric,  or  to  speak  more 
plainly — a  professor  of  the  art  of  pulBng,  at 
your  service, — or  any  body  else's. 

Sneer.  Sir,  you  are  very  obliging!  I  believe, 
Mr.  Puff,  I  have  often  admired  your  talents  in 
the  daily  prints. 

Puff.  Yes,  sir,  I  flatter  myself  I  do  as  much 
businej^s  in  that  way  as  any  six  of  the  fraternity 
in  town; — d<^viiish  hard  work  all  the  summer — 
friend  Dangie  !  never  worked  harder  ! — but 
harkee, — the  winter  managers  were  a  little  sore 
I  believe. 

Dan.  No^-I  believe  they  took  it  all  in  good 
part — 

Puff.  Aye  ! — then  that  must  have  been  affec- 
tation in  them  ;  for  egad,  there  were  some  of 
the  attacks  which  there  was  no  laughing  at  ! 

Sneer.  Aye,  the  humorous  ones  ; — but  1  should 
3  * 


30  THE  CRITIC. 

think  Mr.  Puff,  that  authors  would  in  general  be 
able  to  do  this  sort  of  work  for  themselves. 

Puff.  Why  yes — but  in  a  clumsy  way. — Be- 
sides, we  look  on  that  as  an  encroachment,  and 
so  take  the  opposite  side. — I  dare  say  now  you 
conceive  half  the  very  civil  paragraphs  and  ad- 
vertisements you  see,  to  be  written  by  the  parties 
concerned,  or  their  friends  1 — no  such  thing — 
nine  out  of  ten,  manufactured  by  me  in  the  way 
of  business. 

Sneer.  Indeed ! 

Puff.  Even  the  auctioneers  now — the  auc- 
tioneers I  say,  tho'  the  rogues  have  lately  got 
some  credit  for  their  language — not  an  article  of 
the  merit  theirs  ! — take  them  out  of  their  pul- 
pits, and  they  are  as  dull  as  catalogues ! — no, 
sir: — 'twas  I  first  enrich'd  their  style — "'twas  I 
first  taught  them  to  crowd  their  advertisements 
with  panegyrical  superlatives,  each  epithet  ris- 
ing above  the  other — like  the  bidders  in  their  own 
auction-rooms  ! — from  me  they  learnd  to  inlay 
their  phraseology  with  variegated  chips  of  ex- 
otic metaphor  : — by  me  too  their  inventive  facul- 
ties were  called  forth.  Yes,  sir,  by  me  they 
were  instructed  to  clothe  ideal  walls  with  gra- 
tuitous fruits ; — to  insinuate  obsequious  rivulets 
into  visionary  groves  ; — to  teach  courteous  shrubs 
to  nod  their  approbation  of  the  grateful  soil !  or 
on  emergencies  to  raise  upstart  oaks,  where 
there  never  had  been  an  acorn  ;  to  create  a  de- 
lightful vicmage  without  the  assistance  of  a 
neighbour;  or  fix  the  temple  of  Hygeia  in  the 
fens  of  Lincolnshire ! 


THE  CRITIC.  31 

Dan.  T  am  sure  you  have  done  them  infinite 
service;  for  now,  when  a  gentleman  is  ruined, 
he  parts  with  his  house  with  some  credit. 

Sneer.  Service !  if  they  had  any  gratitude, 
they  would  erect  a  statue  to  him  ;  they  would 
figure  him  as  a  presiding  Mercury,  the  god  of 
traffic  and  fiction,  with  a  hammer  in  his  hand 
instead  of  a  caduceus.  But  pray,  Mr.  PulT,  what 
first  put  you  on  exercising  your  talents  in  this 
way. 

Puff-  Egad,  sir — sheer  necessity — the  proper 
parent  of  an  art  so  nearly  allied  to  invention  : 
you  must  know,  Mr.  Sneer,  that  from  the  first 
time  I  tried  my  hand  at  an  advertisement,  my 
success  was  such,  that  for  some  time  after,  i  led 
a  most  extraordinary  life  indeed  ! 

Sneer.   How,  pray  ? 

Piiff.  Sir,  I  supported  myself  two  years  en- 
tirely by  my  misfortunes. 

Sneer.  By  your  misfortunes  ! 

Puff.  Yes,  sir,  assisted  by  long  sickness,  and 
other  occasional  disorders;  and  a  very  comforta- 
ble living  1  had  of  it. 

Sneer.  From  sickness  and  misfortunes! — you 
practised  as  a  doctor,  and  attorney  at  once  ? 

Piff.  No,  egad  ;  both  maladies  and  miseries 
were  my  own. 

Siieer.  Hey  !  what  the  plague  ! 

Dan.  'Tis  true,  i'faith. 

Puff.  Harkee  I — by  advertisements — '  To  the 
charitable  and  humane  !'  and  '  To  those  whom 
Providence  hath  blessed  with  affluence  !' 

Sneer.  Oh, — I  understand  you. 

Puff.  And,  in  truth,  I  deserved  what  1  got ; 


32  TW:  CRITIC. 

for  1  suppose  never  man  went  through  such  a 
series  of  calamities  in  the  same  space  of  time  ! — 
sir,  I  was  live  times  made  a  bankrupt,  and  re^ 
duced  from  a  state  of  affluence,  by  a  tram  of 
unavoidable  misfortunes  !  then,  sir,  though  a  very 
industrious  tradesman,  I  was  twice  burnt  out, 
and  lost  my  little  all,  both  times! — 1  hved  upon 
those  fires  a  month.  I  soon  after  was  contined 
by  a  most  excruciating  disorder,  and  lost  the  use 
of  my  Iimhs  1 — that  told  very  well  ;  for  1  had  the 
case  strongly  attested,  and  went  about  to  collect 
the  subscriptions  myself. 

Dan.  Egad,  1  believe  that  was  when  you  first 
calPd  on  me — 

Pi(ff-  In  November  last  ? — O  no  ! — I  was  at 
that  time  a  close  pnsoner  in  the  Marshalsea,  for 
a  debt  benevolently  contracted  to  serve  a  friend  ! 
: — i  was  afterwards,  twice  tapped  for  a  dropsy, 
which  declined  into  a  very  profitable  consump" 
tion  I — I  was  then  reduced  to — O  no — then,  I 
became  a  widow  with  six  helpness  children, — 
after  having  had  eleven  husbands  pressed,  and 
be.ng  left  every  time  eight  months  gone  with 
chiid,  and  without  money  to  get  me  into  a  hos- 
pital! 

Sneer.  And  you  bore  all  with  patience,  I  make 
no  d.  u-;t  ? 

fiff'  Why,  yes, — tho'  I  made  some  occasional 
attenjpts  at  felo  de  se  ;  but  as  I  did  not  find  those 
rash  actions  answer,  I  left  off  killing  myself  very 
soon. — Well,  sir, — at  last,  what  wilh  bankruptr 
cies,  fires,  gouts,  dropsies,  imprisonments,  and 
other  valuable  calamities,  having  got  together 


THE  CRITIC.  35 

.1  pretty  handsome  sum,  I  iletermined  to  qnit  a 
business  which  had  always  gone  rather  against 
my  conscience,  and  m  a  more  liberal  way  siiii  to 
indulge  my  talents  for  iiction  and  embellishnfient, 
thro*  my  favourite  channels  of  diurnal  commu- 
nicat  on; — and  so,  sir,  you  have  my  history. 

Sneer.  Most  obligingly  communicative  indeed  ; 
and  your  confession  if  published,  might  certainly 
serve  the  cause  of  true  charity,  by  rescuing  the 
most  useful  channels  of  appeal  to  benevoience 
from  tbe  cant  of  imposition. — But  surely  Mr. 
Puff,  there  is  no  great  mystery  in  your  present 
profession  ? 

Pujf.  Mystery  I  sir,  I  will  take  upon  me  to 
say,  the  matter  vv-is  never  scientifically  treated, 
nor  reduced  to  rule  before. 

Sneer.  Reduced  to  rule  ? 

Pv.ff^.  O  lud,  sir!  you  are  very  ignorant,  I  am 
afraid. —  Ves,  sir, — Puffing  is  of  various  sorts — 
the  principal  are,  the  pulf  direct — the  puli'  pre- 
liminary— the  puff  collateral — the  putTcoliusive, 
and  the  puff  oblique,  or  puff  by  implication.  — 
These  all  assume,  as  circumstances  require,  the 
various  forms  of  •  letter  to  the  editor' — '■  occa- 
sional anecdote' — '  impartial  critique' — *•  obser- 
vation tVom  a  correspondent,' — or  '  advertise- 
ment from  the  party.' 

Sneer.  The  puff  direct  I  can  conceive — 

Puff.  O  yes,  that's  simple  enough, — for  in- 
stance— a  new  comedy  or  farce  is  to  be  produced 
at  'Ue  of  the  theatres  (though  by  the  bye  they 
don't  bring  out  half  what  they  ought  to  do.) 
The  author,  suppose  Mr.  Smaller,  or  Mr  Dap- 


34  THE  CRITIC. 

per — or  any  particular  friend  of  mine — very 
well ;  the  day  before  it  is  to  be  perfornned,  I 
write  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
received — I  have  the  plot  from  the  author, — 
and  only  add — characters  strongly  drawn — high- 
ly coloured — hand  of  a  master — fund  of  genuine 
humour — mine  of  invention — neat  dialogue — at- 
tic salt !  then  for  the  performance  Mr.  Dodd 
was  astonishingly  great  in  the  character  of  Sir 
Harry!  that  universal  and  judicious  actor,  Mr. 
Palmer,  perhaps  never  appeared  to  more  ad- 
tage  than  in  the  Colonel ;  but  it  is  not  in  the 
poiver  of  language  to  do  justice  to  Mr.  King  . — 
indeed  he  more  than  merited  those  repeated 
Ibursts  of  applause  which  he  drew  from  a  most 
brilliant  and  judicious  audience  !  as  to  the  scene- 
ry—the miraculous  powers  of  Mr.  De  Louther- 
bourg'«  pencil  an^  universally  acknowledged  !— 
in  short,  we  are  at  a  loss  which  to  admire  most, 
— the  unrivalled  genius  of  the  author,  the  great 
attention  and  liberality  of  the  managers, —  the 
wonderful  abilities  of  the  painter,  or  the  incredi- 
ble exertions  of  all  the  performers! 

Sneer.  That  s  pretty  well  indeed,  sir. 

Pnff^.  O  cool— qu.te  cool — to  what  I  some- 
times do. 

Sneer.   *\nd  do  you  think  there   are  any  whoi 
are  mlluenced  by  this  ? 

Pitff.  O.  lud  !  yes,  sir  ;  -  the  number  of  those 
who  undergo  *he  fatigue  of  judging  for  them- 
selves is  very  small  indeed  ! 

Sneer.   Weli,  sir,  the  puff  preliminary. 

PiiJF.  O  that,  sir,  do^s  well  in  the  form  of  a 


THE  CRITIC.  35 

caution. — In  a  matter  of  gallantry  now — Sir 
Flimsy  Gossamer,  wishes  to  be  well  with  Lady 
Fanny  Fete  -he  applies  to  me  —  I  open  trenches 
for  him  with  a  paragraph  m  the  Morning  Post. — 
It  is  recommended  to  the  beautiful  and  accom- 
plished Lady  F.  four  stars  F  dash  E  to  he  on  her 
guard  against  that  dangerous  character,  Sir  F 
dash  G  ;  who,  however  pleasing  and  insinuating 
his  manners  may  be,  is  certainly  not  remarkable 
for  the  constancij  of  his  aUaclunents ! — m  italics. 
— Here  you  see.  Sir  Flimsy  Gossamer  is  intro- 
duced to  the  particular  notice  of  Lady  Fanny  ; — 
who,  perhaps  never  thought  of  him  before, — 
she  tinds  herself  publicly  cautioned  to  avoid  him, 
which  naturally  makes  her  desirous  of  seeing  him; 
— the  observation  of  their  acquaintance  causes  a 
pretty  kind  of  mutual  embarrassment,  this  pro- 
duces a  sort  of  sympathy  of  interest, — which,  if 
Sir  Flimsy  is  unable  to  improve  effectually,  he 
at  leasts  gains  the  credit  of  having  their  names 
mentioned  together,  by  a  particular  set,  and  in  a 
particular  way, — which  nine  times  out  of  ten  is 
the  full  accomplishment  of  modern  gallantry. 

Dan.  Egad,  Sneer,  you  will  be  quite  an  adept 
in  the  business. 

Fuff  Now,  sir,  the  puff  collateral  is  much  us- 
ed as  an  appendage  to  advertisements,  and  may 
take  the  form  of  anecdote. — Yesterday,  as  th« 
celebrated  George  Bon-Uot  was  sauntering  down 
St.  James  s  Street,  he  met  the  lively  Lady  Mary 
Myrtle,  coming  out  of  the  Park,—'  Good  God,  La- 
'  dy  Mary,  Vm  surprised  to  meet  you  in  a  white 
'jacket, — for  I  expected  never  to  have  seen  you. 


36  THE  CRITIC. 

«  but  in  a  full  trimmed  uniform,  and  a  light-horse- 
' man's  cap!' — "heavens,  George,  where  could 
you  have  learned  that  ?' — "  why,'  replied  the 
wit,  M  just  saw  a  print  of  you,  in  a  new  publi- 
'  cation,  called  the  Camp  Magazine,  which,  by 
'  the  bye,  is  a  devillish  clever  thing — and  is  sold 
'  at  No.  3,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  way,  two 
'  doors  trom  the  printing-office,  the  corner  of  Ivy 
'  Lane,  Paternoster  Row,  price  only  one  shil- 
'ling!' 

Sneer.  Very  ingenious  indeed. 

Puff.  But  the  puff  collusive  is  the  newest  of 
any  ;  for  it  acts  in  the  disguise  of  determined 
hostility — It  is  much  used  by  bold  booksellers 
and  enterprising  poets. — An  indignant  correspon- 
dent observes — that  the  new  poem,  called  Beel- 
zebub''s  Cotilhon,  or  Proserpine's  Fete  Champe- 
tre,  IS  one  of  the  most  unjustifiable  performan- 
ces he  ever  read  !  the  seventy  with  which  cer- 
tain characters  are  handled  is  quite  shocking ! 
and  as  there  are  many  descriptions  in  it  too 
warmly  coloured  for  female  delicacy,  the  shame- 
ful avidity  with  which  this  piece  is  bought  by  all 
people  of  fashion,  is  a  reproach  on  the  taste  of 
the  times,  and  a  disgrace  to  the  delicacy  of  the 
age  I — here  you  see  the  two  strongest  induce- 
ments are  held  torlh  : — first,  that  nobody  ought 
to  read  it ; — and  secondly,  that  every  body  buys 
it ;  on  the  strength  of  which,  the  publisher  bold- 
ly prints  the  tenth  edition,  before  he  had  sold 
ten  of  the  first;  and  then  establishes  it  by 
threatening  hjms*elf  wiih  the  pillory,  or  abso- 
lutely indicting  himself  for  scan,  mag  ! 


THE  CKiTlG.  '37 

Uan.  Ha  I  ha  !  ha  ! — -gad  1  know  it  is  so. 

Puff.  As  to  the  puff  oblique,  or  puff  by  impli- 
cation, it  is  too  various  and  extensive  to  be  illus- 
trated by  an  instance ;  it  attracts  in  titles,  and 
presumes  in  patents  ;  it  lurks  in  the  limitation  of 
a  subscription,  and  invites  in  the  assurance  of 
crowd  and  incommodation  at  public  places  ;  it  de- 
lights to  draw  forth  concealed  merit,  with  a  most 
disinterested  assiduity  ;  and  sometimes  wears  a 
countenance  of  smiling  censure  and  tender  re- 
proach.— It  has  a  wonderful  memory  for  parlia- 
mentary debates,  and  will  often  give  the  whole 
speech  of  a  favoured  member  with  the  most  flat- 
tering accuracy.  But,  above  all,  it  is  a  great 
dealer  in  reports  and  suppositions.  It  has  the 
earliest  intelligence  of  intended  preferments 
that  will  reflect  honour  on  the  patrons  ;  and  em- 
bryo promotions  of  modest  gentlemen, — who 
know  nothing  of  the  matter  themselves.  It  can 
hint  a  ribband  for  implied  services,  in  the  air  of 
a  common  report ;  and  with  the  carelessness  of 
a  casual  paragraph,  suggest  ofiicers  into  com- 
mands,— to  which  they  have  no  pretension  but 
their  wishes.  This,  sir,  is  the  last  principal 
class  of  the  art  of  puffing, — an  art  which  I  hope 
you  will  now  agree  with  me,  is  of  the  highest 
dignity  ; — yielding  a  tablature  of  benevolence 
and  public  spirit ;  befriending  equally  trade,  gal- 
lantry, criticism,  and  politics :  the  applause  of 
genius  !  the  register  of  charity  !  the  triumph  of 
heroism  !  the  self-defence  of  contractors  !  the 
fame  of  orators! — and  the  gazette  of  ministers? 

Sneer.  Sir  I  am  completely  a  convert  both  to 
4 


38  THE  CRITIC. 

the  importance  and  ingenuity  of  your  profession  j' 
and  now,  sir,  there  is  but  one  thing  which  can 
possibly  increase  my  respect  for  you,  and  that  is, 
your  permitting  me  to  be  present  this  morning, 
at  the  rehearsal  of  your  new  trage 

Puff.  Hush,  for  heaven''s  sake. — ^)y  tragedy! 
— egad,  Dangle,  I  take  this  very  ill;  you  know 
how  apprehensive  I  am  of  being  known  to  be  the 
author. 

Dan.  I'faith  1  would  not  have  told;  but  it's  in 
the  papers,  and  your  name  at  length, — in  the 
Morning  Chronicle. 

Pvff.  Ah!  those  damn'd  editors  never  can 
keep  a  secret !— well,  Mr.  Sneer, — no  doubt  you 
will  do  me  great  honour — I  shall  be  infinitely 
happy  ; — highly  flattered — 

Dan.  1  believe  it  must  be  near  the  time; — 
shall  we  go  together  ? 

Piff  No ;  (*  rosses  to  l.h.)  it  will  not  be  yet 
this  hour,  for  they  are  always  late  at  that  thea- 
tre :  besides,  I  must  meet  you  there,  for  I  have 
some  little  matters  here  to  send  to  the  papers, 
and  a  few  paragraphs  to  scribble  before  I  go. 
(Looking  at  memorandums.') — Here  is  ••  a  consci- 
*  entious  baker,  on  the  subject  of  the  army 
'  bread  ;'  and  '  a  detester  of  visible  brick-work, 
'  in  favour  of  the  new  invented  stucco  ,'  both  in 
the  style  of  Junius,  and  promised  for  tomor- 
row.— The  Thames  navigation  too  is  at  a  stand. 
— Misomud  or  Anti-shoal  must  go  to  work 
again  directly. — Here  too  are  some  political  me- 
morandums I  see  ;  aye — to  take  Paul  Jones, 
and  get  the  Indiamen  out  of  the  Shannon — rein- 


THE  CRITIC.  3^ 

force  Byron — compel  the  Dutch  to--so  I — I  must 
do  that  in  the  evening  papers,  or  reserve  it  for 
the  Morning  Herald,  for  I  know  that  I  have  un- 
dertaken to-morrow,  besides,  to  estabhsh  the 
unanimity  of  the  tleet  in  the  PubHc  Advertiser, 
and  to  shoot  Charles  Fox  in  the  Mornicg  Post — 
So,  egad,  I  ha'n't  a  moment  to  lose  ! 

Dan.  Well ! — we'll  meet  in  the  Green  Koom. 
[Exeu7it  Puffi  L-H. — Dangle  and  >S/ierr,  r.h. 

END    OF    ACT    T. 


ACT  II. 
SCENE  l.—The  Theatre. 

Enter  Dangle,   Puff,   and  Sneer,   as   before   the 
Curtain,  l.h.  Dangle  r.h.  of  Pvff^-,  and  Sneer^  l.ii. 

Puff.  No,  no,  sir;  what  Shakspeare  says  of 
actors  may  be  better  applied  to  the  purpose  of 
plays;  r/ze^  ought  to  be  *  the  altstract  and  brief 
chronicles  of  the  times.'  Therefore  when  his- 
tory, and  particularly  the  history  of  our  own 
country,  furnishes  any  thing  like  a  case  in  point, 
to  the  time  in  which  an  author  writes,  if  he 
knows  his  own  interest,  he  will  take  advantage 
of  it;  so,  sir,  1  call  my  tragedy  'The  Spanish 
Armada ;'  and  have  laid  the  scene  before  Tilbu- 
ry Fort. 

Sneer.  A  most  happy  thought  certainly  ! 

,Dnn.  K^a,i  it  was  : — I  told  you  so. — Eut  pray 


40  THE  CRITIC. 

now  I  don't  understand  how  you  have  contrived 
to  introduce  -Any  love  into  it. 

Pnff.  Love  !  oh  nothing  so  easy :  for  it  is  a 
received  point  amonof  poets,  that  where  history 
gives  you  a  good  heroic  out-line  for  a  play,  you 
may  till  r.p  with  a  little  love  at  your  own  discre- 
tion :  in  doing  which,  nine  times  out  often,  you 
only  make  up  a  deficiency  in  the  private  history 
of  the  times.  Now  I  rather  think  I  have  done 
this  with  some  success. 

Sneer.  No  scandal  about  Queen  Elizabeth,  I 
hope  ? 

Puff'  O  hid  !  no,  no, — I  only  suppose  the  go- 
vernor of  Tilbury  Fort's  daughter  to  be  in  love 
with  the  son  of  the  Spanish  admiral. 

Sneer.  Oh,  is  that  all! 

Dan.  Excellent,  i'failh  !  I  see  it  at  once. — But 
won't  this  appear  rather  improbable  ? 

Piff.  To  be  sure  it  will — but  what  the  plague  ! 
a  play  is  not  to  show  occurrences  that  happen 
every  day,  but  things  just  so  strange,  that  tho' 
they  never  did^  they  might  happen. 

Sneer,  Certainly  nothing  is  unnatural,  that  is 
not  physically  impossible. 

Puff.  Very  true — and  for  that  matter  Don  Fe- 
rolo  VVhiskerandos — for  that's  the  lover's  name, 
might  have  been  over  here  in  the  train  of  the 
Spanish  ambassador ;  or  Tilburina,  for  that  is 
the  lady's  name,  might  have  been  in  love  with 
him  from  having  heard  his  character,  or  seen  his 
picture  ;  or  from  knowing  that  he  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  she  ought  to  be  in  love  with 
— or  for  any  other  good  female  reason. — Howev- 
er, sir,  the  fact  is,  that  tho'  she  is  but  a  knight's 


THE  CRITIC.  41 

daughter,  egad  she  is  in  love  like  any  princess ! 

Dan.  Poor  young  lad\  ;  1  feel  for  her  already  1 
for  I  can  conceive  how  great  the  conflict  roust 
be  between  her  p;!s&ion  and  her  duty  ;  her  love 
for  her  country,  and  her  love  for  Don  Ferolo 
Whiskerandos  ! 

Pvff.  O  amazing !—  her  poor  susceptible  heart 
is  swaved  to  and  fro,  by  contending  passions 
like—' 

Enter  Under  Prompter,  l.h. 

Under  P.  Sir,  the  scene  is  set,  and  every  thing 
is  ready  to  begin  if  you  please. 

Puff.  Egad ;  then  we'll  lose  no  time. 

Under  P.  Tho'  1  believe,  sir,  you  will  find  it 
very  short,  for  all  the  performers  have  profited 
by  the  kind  permission  you  granted  them. 

Pnff.   Hey!  what! 

Under  P.  You  know,  sir,  you  gave  them  leave 
to  cut  out  or  omit  whatever  they  found  heavy 
or  unnecessary  to  the  plot,  and  1  must  own  they 
have  taken  very  liberal  advantage  of  your  indul- 
gence. 

Puff'.  Well,  well. — They  are  in  general  very 
good  judges  ;  and  I  know  1  am  luxuriant. — Now, 
Mr.  Hopkins,  as  soon  as  you  please. 

Under  P.  {To  the  music.)  Gentlemen,  will  you 
play  a  few  bars  of  something,  just  to — 

Puff.  Aye,  that's  right, — for  as  we  have  the 
scenes,  and  dresses,  egad,  we^ll  go  to't,  as  if  it 
was  the  first  night's  performance ;  but  you  need 
not  mind  stopping  betw-een  the  acts 

4  *  [Exit  Under  Prompter,  l.h. 


42  THE  CRlTie. 

{Orchestra  plays. — Then  the  BeU  rings.) 

Sob  !  stand  c'ear,  gentlemen. — Now  you  know 
there  will  be  a  cry  of  down  !— down  ! — hats  off! 
— silence  ! — Then  up  curtain,  and  let  us  see  what 
our  painters  have  done  for  us. 

(The   Curtain   rises.and  discovers  Tilbury  Fori.'— 
Two  Centinels  asleep^  r.h.  and  l.h.) 

T>an.  Tilbury  Fort ! — very  fine  indeed  ! 

Puff.  Now,  what  do  you  think  I  open  with  ? 

Sneer.  Faith,  I  can't  guess — 

Puff.  A  clock — Hark  ! — {Clock  strikes.)  I  open 
with  a  clock  striking,  to  beget  an  awful  attention 
in  the  audience ; — it  also  marks  the  time,  which 
is  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  saves  a  de- 
scription of  the  rising  sun,  and  a  great  deal  about 
gilding  the  Eastern  liemisphere. 

Dan.  But  pray,  are  the  centinels  to  be  asleep  ? 

Piff.  Fast  as  watchmen. 

Sneer.  Isn't  that  odd,  tho'  at  such  an  alarming 
crisis  ? 

Puff"  To  be  sure  it  is, — but  smaller  things 
must  give  way  to  a  striking  scene  at  the  open- 
ing ;  that's  a  rule.  And  the  case  is,  that  two 
great  men  are  coming  to  this  very  spot  to  begin 
the  piece  ;  now,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  they 
would  open  their  lips,  if  these  fellows  nere 
watching  them,  so,  egad,  I  must  either  have  sent 
them  off  their  posts,  or  set  them  asleep. 

Sneer,  O,  that  accounts  for  it !  But  tell  us  who 
tire  these  ceminor! 


THE  CRITie*.  43 

Tuff.  These  are  they. — Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
and  Sir  Christopher  Hatton. — You'll  know  Sir 
Christopher,  by  his  turning  out  his  toes, — famous 
you  know  tor  his  dancing.  I  like  to  preserve 
all  the  little  iraits  of  character.     Now  attend. 

{Dan.  and  Sneei-  seated^  L.n.) 

Enter  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  Sir   Christo- 
pher Hatton,  r.h. 

'  Sir  C.  True,  gallant  Raleigh  !'— 

Dan.  What,  they  had  been  talking  before  ? 

Puff.  O,  yes  ;  all  the  way  as  they  came  along. 
I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen,  {To  the  Actors.)  but 
these  are  particular  friends  of  mine,  whose  re- 
marks may  be  of  great  service  to  us.  Don't 
mind  interrupting  .them  whenever  any  thing 
strikes  you.     {To  Sneer  and  Dangle.) 

'  Sir  C.  True,  gallant  Raleigh  ! 
'  ButO,  thou  champion  of  thy  country's  fame, 

*  There  is  a  question  which  1  yet  must  ask  ; 

*  A  question,  which  I  never  ask'd  before  ; — 
'  What  mean  these  mighty  armaments  ? 

*  This  general  muster  ?  And  this  throng  of 

chiefs  ?' 

Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Puff,  how  came  Sir  Christo- 
pher Hatton  never  to  ask  that  question  before  ? 

Puff.  What,  before  the  play  began  ?  How  the 
plague  could  he  ? 

Dan.  That's  true  i'faith  ! 

Ptff.  But  you  will  hear  what  he  thinks  of  the 
matter. 

^  Sir  C.  Alas,  my  noble  friend,  when  I  behold 


44  THE  CRITIC. 

'  Yon  tented  plains  in  martial  symmetry     [line? 
'  Array'd — When  I  count  o'er  yon  glittering 
'Of  crested  warriors,  where  the  proud  steeds 

neigh, 
'  And  valour-breathing  trumpet's  shrill  appeal, 

*  Responsive  vibrates  on  my  list'ning  ear ; 

*  When  virgin  majesty  herself  I  view, 

'  Like  her  protecting  Pallas  veil'd  in  steel, 

'  With  graceful  confidence  exhort  to  arms ! 

'  When  briefly  all  1  hear  or  see  bears  stamp 

'  Of  martial  vigilance,  and  stern  defence, 

'  I  cannot  but  surmise. — Forgive,  my  friend, 

'  If  the  conjecture's  rash  ;  I  cannot  but 

'  Surmise. — The  state  some  danger  apprehends  I' 

Sneer.   A  very  cautious  conjecture  that. 

Piiff'  Yes,  that's  his  character  ;  not  to  give  an 
opinion,  but  on  secure  grounds;  now  then. 

'  Sir  W.  O,  most  accomplished  Christopher!' 

Puff.   He  calls  him  by   his  christian  name,  to 
show  that  they  are  on  the  most  familiar  terms. 

'  Sir  W.  0  most  accomplish'd  Christopher.  I 
find 
'  Thy  staunch  sagacity  still  tracks  the  future, 

*  In  the  fresh  print  of  the  overtaken  past.' 

Puff.  Figurative  ! 
'  Sir  W.    Thy  fears  are  just. 
'  Sir  C.  But  where  ?  Whence  ?  W^hen  ?  and 
What  ? 
'  The  danger  is : — methinks  I  fain  would  learn. 
'  Sir  W.  You  know,    my   friend,  scarce    two 
'  revolving  suns,  [course, 

*  And  three  revolving  moons,  have  closed  their 
'  Since  haughty  Philij),  in  despite  of  peace, 


THE  CRITIC.  45 

\  ^  With  hostile  hand  hath  struck  at  Eng'land's 
t  trade. 

'  Sir  C.  I  know  it  well. 

'  Sir  W.  Philip,  vou  know,  is  proud  Iberia's 

'  Sir  C.  He  is.     "  [king  ! 

'  Sir  W.  His  subjects  in  base  bigotry 
'  And  Catholic  oppression  held, — while  we, 
'  You  know,  the  Protestant  persuasion  hold. 

'  Sir  C.  We  do.  [armament, 

'  Sir  IV.  You  know  beside, — his  boasted 
'  The  fam'd  Armada, —  by  the  Pope  baptized, 
'  With  purpose  to  invade  these  realms — 

'Sir  a  Is  failed, 
'  Our  last  advices  so  report. 

'  Sir  W.  While  the  Iberian  admiral's  chief 
•  His  darling  son —  [hope, 

'  Sir  C.  Ferolo  Whiskerandos  hight — 

'  Sir  W.  The  same ; — by  chance  a  pris'ner 
'  hath  been  ta'en, 
^  And  in  this  fort  of  Tilbury — 

'  Sir  C.  Is  now  [top 

'  Confin'd  ; — 'tis  true,  and  oft  from  yon  tall  turret 
'  I've  mark'd  the  youthful  Sp^miard's  haughty 
'  Unconquerd,  tho'  in  chains. —  [mien 

'  Sir  W.  You  also  know' — 

Dan  Mr.  Puff,  as  he  knows  all  this,  why  does 
Sir  Walter  go  on  telling  him  ? 

Puff.  But  the  audience  are  not  supposed  to 
know  any  thing  of  the  matter,  are  they  ? 

Sneer.  True,  but  I  think  you  manage  ill  :  for 
there  certainly  appears  no  reason  why  wSir  Wal- 
ter should  be  so  communicative. 

Pvff.  For,  egad  now,   that  is  one  of  the  most 


46  THE  CRITIC. 

ungrateful  observations  I  ever  heard, — for  the 
less  inf^Licement  he  has  to  tell  all  this,  the  more 
I  think  j'Ou  ought  to  be  obliged  to  him  ;  for  I  am 
sure  you'd  know  nothing  of  the  matter  with- 
out it. 

Da>}.  That's  very  true,  upon  my  word. 

Puff.  But  yon  will  find  he  was  not  going  on. 

'  Sir  C.  Enough,  enough, — 'tis  pb^ai, — and  I 
'  Am  in  amazement  lost  I' —  [no  more 

Piff  Here,  now  you  see,  Sir  Christopher  did 
not  HI  fact  ask  any  one  question  for  his  own  in- 
formation. 

S.ieer.  No,  indeed  : — his  has  been  a  most  dis- 
interesteil  curiosity. 

D  n.  Really,  1  tind,  we  are  very  much  oblig'd 
to  them  both. 

Piff.  To  be  sure  you  are.  Now  then  for  the 
commander  in  chief,  the  earl  of  Leicester !  who, 
you  know,  was  no  favourite  but  of  the  queen's. 
—  We  left  off — 'in  amazement  lost  !' — 

'  Sir  C.  Am  m  amazement  lost. —         [preme 
'  But,  see  where  noble  Leicester  comes  I   su- 
'  In  honours  and  command. 

'  Sir  W.  P%u(\  yet  methinks 
*  At  such  a  time,  so  perilous,  so  fear'd, 
'"■  That  staff  m;g:it  well  become  an  abler  grasp. 

*  Sir  C.  And  so,  by  heav'n  !  think  1 ;  but  soft, 
'  he's  here  !' 

Puff'   ^yc,  they  envy  him. 

Sneer.  But  who  are  those  with  him? 

Puff.  O!  very  valiant  knights;  one  is  the 
governor  of  the  fort,  the  other  the  master  of  the 
horse. — And  now,  I  think  you  shall  hear  some 


THE  CRITIC.  41 

better  language  :  I  was  obliged  to  be  plain  and 
intelligible  in  the  first  scene,  because  there  was 
so  much  matter  of  fact  in  it;  but  now,  i'faith, 
you  have  trope,  figure,  and  metaphor,  as  plenti- 
ful as  noun-substantives. 

Enter  Earl  of  Leicester,  the  Governor,  and 
others,  r.h. 

■  Leic.  How's  this,  my  friends  !  is't  thus  your 
'  new-fledgM  zeal 

*  And  plumed  valour  moulds  in  roosted  sloth  ? 

*  Why  dimly  glimmers  that  heroic  flame, 

*  Whose  redd'ning  blaze  by  patriot  spirit  fed, 

*  Should  be  the  beacon  of  a  kindling  realm? 

*  Can  the  quick  current  of  a  patriot  heart, 

*  Thus  stagnate  in  a  cold  and  weedy  converse, 

*  Or  freeze  in  tideless  inactivity  ? 

'  No  !  rather  let  the  fountain  of  your  valour 
'  Spring  thro'  each  stream  of  enterprize, 
'  Each  petty  channel  of  conducive  daring, 

*  Till  the  full  torrent  of  your  foaming  wrath 

*  O'erwhelm  the  flats  of  sunk  hostiUty  1' 

Puff.  There  it  is, — followed  up  ! 

*  Sir  W.  No  more  !  the  fresh'ning  breath  ot' 

'  thy  rebuke 

*  Hath  fill'd  the  swelling  canvass  of  our  souls  ! 
'  And  thus,  tho'  fate  should  cut  the  cable  of 

(J//  take  hands.) 
'  Our  topmost  hopes,  in  friendship's  closing  line 

*  We'll  grapple  with  despair,  and  if  we  fall, 

*  We'll  fall  in  glory's  wake  ! 

•  Leic.  There  spoke  Old  England's  genius  ' 


48  THE  CRITIC. 

'  Then,  are  we  all  resolvM  ? 

'  M.  We  are  ;— all  resolvM. 

*  Leic.  To  conquer, — or  be  free  ? 

'  All.   To  conquer, — or  be  free. 

'Leic.  All? 

'M.  AH.' 

Dan.   JVe)7i.  con.  egad  ! 

Puff".  O  yes,    where   they   do  agree   on  the 
stage,  their  unanimity  is  wonderful ! 

'  Leic.  Then  let's  embrace  ; — and 
t  Now'— 

Sneer.  What  the  plague,  is  he  going  to  pray  ? 

Puff.  Yes,  hush ! — in  great  emergencies,  there 
is  nothing  like  a  prayer! 

'  Leic.  O  mighty  Mars  !'  (^Kneels.) 

Dan.  But  why  should  he  pray  to  Mars  ? 

Puff.  Hush! 

'  Leic.  If  in  thy  homage  bred, 
'  Each  point  of  discipline  I've  still  observ'd ; 
'  Nor  but  by  due  promotion,  and  the  right 
'-  Of  service,  to  the  rank  of  major-general 
'  Have  ris'n ;  assist  thy  votary  now  ! 

'  Gov.  Yet  do  not  rise, — hear  me  !") 

'  Mas.  ofH.  And  me  !  |  {They 

*  Knight.  And  me  !  j^    all 

'  Sir  W.  And  me  !  |  Kneel.) 

'  Sir  C.  And  me !'  J  , 

Puff.  Now,  pray  altogether. 

'  All.  Behold  thy  votaries  submissive  beg, 
'-  That  thou  wilt  deign  to  grant  them  all  they 
'  Assist  them  to  accomplish  all  their  ends,  [ask  ; 
'  And  sanctify  whatever  means  they  use 
'  To  gain  them  !' 


THE  CRITIC.  49 

Sne^r.  A  very  orthodox  quintetto ! 

Puff.  Vastly  well,  gentlemen. — Is  that  well 
managed  or  not  ?  Have  you  such  a  prayer  as 
that  on  the  stage  ? 

Sn€e7\  Not  exactly. 

Leic.  {To  Puff.)  But,  Sir,  you  hav'n't  settled 
how  we  are  to  get  off  here.  [you? 

Puff-  You  could  not  go  off  kneeling,  could 

Sir  W.  {To  Puff.)  O^no,  sir!  impossible  ! 

Puff.  It  would  have  a  good  effect  iTaith.  if 
you  could !  exeunt  praying  ! — Yes,  and  would 
vary  the  established  mode  of  springing  off  with 
a  glance  at  the  pit. 

Sneer.  O  never  mind,  so  as  you  get  them  off, 
ril  answer  for  it  the  audience  wont  care  how. 

Puff.  Well  then,  repeat  the  last  line  standing, 
and  go  off  the  old  way. 

'  All.  And  sanctify  whatever  merms  they  use 
'  to  gain  them.'  [Exeunt  r.h. 

Dan.  Bravo !  a  fine  exit. 

Sneer.  Well,  really  Mr.  Puff— 

Puff.  Stay  a  moment. — 

The  Centinels  get  up. 

<  \st.  Cen.  All  this  shall  to  Lord  Burleigh's  ear. 

i  2d.  Cen.  'Tis  meet  it  should.' 

[Exeunt  Centinels .^  r.h. 

Dan.  Hey  ! — why,  I  thought  those  fellows 
lad  been  asleep  ? 

Puff.  Only  a  pretence,  there's  the  art  of  it  5 
tl.ey  were  spies  of  Lord  Burleiirh's. 


50  THE  CRITIC. 

•Sneer.  But  isn't  it  odd,  they  were  never  taken 
notice  of,  not  even  by  the  commander  in  chief. 

Puff.  O  lud,  sir,  if  people  who  want  to  listen, 
or  overhear,  were  not  always  conniv'd  at  in  a 
tragedy,  there  would  be  no  carrying  on  any  plot 
in  the  world. 

Dan.  That's  certain ! 

Piff.  But  take  care,  my  dear  Dangle,  the 
morning  gun  is  going  to  lire.         [Connon  fires.) 

Dan.  VVell,  that  will  have  a  fine  effect. 

Puff.  I  think  so,  and  helps  to  realize  the 
scene. — [Cannon  twice.) — What  the  plague! — 
three  morning  guns! — there  never  is  but  one  ! — 
aye,  this  is  always  the  way  at  the  theatre. — Give 
these  fellows  a  good  thing,  and  they  never  know 
when  to  have  done  with  it.  You  have  no  more 
cannon  to  fire  ? 

Prom.  [From  within.)  No,  sir. 

Puff.  Now  then,  for  soft  music. 

Sneer.  Pray  what's  that  for  ? 

Puff.  It  shews  that  Tilburina  is  coming  ;  noth- 
ing introduces  you  a  heroine  like  soft  music. — 
Here  she  comes. 

Dan.  And  her  confidant,  I  suppose  ? 

Puff.  To  be  sure  :  here  they  are  ; — inconso- 
lable to  the  minuet  in  Ariadne  !        {Soft  Music.) 

Enter  Tilburina  and  Confidant,  r.h. 

'  Til.  Now  has  the  whispering  breath  of  gen 
tie  morn 
'  Bad  nature's  voice,  and  nature's  beauty  rise  ; 
*  While  orient  Phoebus  with  unborrow'd  hues. 


THE  CRITIC.  &1 

'  Clothes  the  wak'd  loveliness  which  all  night 
^  In  heav'nly  drapery  !  Darkness  is  fled,    [slept, 
'  Now  flowers  unfold  their  beauties  to  the  sun, 
'  And  blushing,  kiss  the  beam  he  sends  to  wake 

'  them, 
^  The  strip'd  carnation,  and  the  guarded  rose, 

*  The  vulgar  vvallflowT,  and  smart  gillyflower, 

*  The  polyanthus  mean, — the  dapper  daisy, 

'  Sweet  •'*  illiam  and  svveet  marjoram, — and  all 
'  The  tribe  of  single  and  of  double  pinks  ! 
'  Now  too,  the  feather  d  warblers  tune  their 

'  notes 
'  Around  to  charm  the  list'ning  grove. — the  lark  I 

*  The  linnet  !  chathnch  !   bullfinch  !  goldfinch  ! 

'  greenfinch  ! 
'  — But,  O  to  me,  no  joy  can  they  afford ! 
'  Nor  rose,  nor  wallflow'r,  nor  smart  gillyflower, 
'  Nor  polyanthus  mean,  nor  dapper  daisy, 
'Nor  William  sweet,  nor  marjoram, — nor  lark, 
'  Linnet,  nor  all  the  finches  of  the  grove  I' 

Puff.  Your  white  handkerchief,  madam. — 

Til.   I   thought,  sir,  I   wasn't  to   use  that  'till 
'  heart-rending  woe.' 

'  Puff.   O  yes,  madam — at  '  the  finches  of  the 
grove,'  if  vou  please. 

'  Til.  Nor  lark, 

*  Linnet,  nor  all  the  finches  of  the  grove  !' 

(  Weeps.) 
Puff.  Vastly  well,  madam  I 
Dan.  Vastly  well  indeed  I 
'  Til.  For,  O  too  sure,  heart-rending  woe  is 

*  The  lot  of  wretched  Tilburina  !'  [now 

Dan.  O  ! — 'tis  too  much. 


52  THE  CRITIC. 

Sneer.  Oh  ! — It  is  indeed. 

'  Con.  Be  comforted,  sweet  lady  ; — for  who 
knows  [store. 

*  But  heav'n  has  yet  some  milk-white  day  in 

'  Til.  Alas  !   my  gentle  Nora, 
'  Thy  tender  youth  as  yet  hath  never  mourn'd 
'  Love's  fatal  dart. — Else  would'st  thou  know, 

'  that  when 
'  The  soul  is  sunk  in  comfortless  despair, 
^  It  cannot  taste  of  merriment.' 

Van.  That's  certain. 

'  Con.  But  see  where  your  stern  father  comes  j 
'  It  is  not  meet  that  he  should  find  you  thus.' 

Pvff.  Hey  !  what  the  plague  ! — what  a  cut  is 
here  ! — wh}^,  what  is  become  of  the  description 
of  her  first  meeting  with  Don  Whiskerandos  ? 
His  gallant  behaviour  in  the  sea  fight,  and  the 
simile  of  the  canary  bird  ? 

Til.  Indeed,  sir,  you'll  find  they  will  not  be 
miss'd. 

Puff.  Very  well. — Very  well ! 

Til.  The  cue,  ma'am,  if  you  please. 

'  Con.  It  is  not  meet  that  he  should  find  you 
thus. —  [task. 

'  Til.  Thou  counsell'st  right,  but  'tis  no  easy 
'  For  bare-faced  grief  to  wear  a  mask  of  joy. 

Enter  Governor,  r.h. 

'-Gov.  How's  this? — In  tears  ? — O  Tilburina, 
shame  ! 
'  Is  this  a  time  for  maudling  tenderness, 
-  And  Cupid's  baby  woes  ?— Hast  thou  not  heard 


THE  CRITIC.  53 

•  That  haughty  Spain's  Pope-consecrated  fleet 
'  Advances  to  our  shores,  while  England's  fate, 
'-  Like  a  chpp'd  guinea,  trembles  in  the  scale  ! 

'  Til.  Then,  is  the  crisis  of  my  fate  at  hand ! 
'  I  see  the  fleet's  approach  I — I  see' — 

Puff.  Now,  pray,  gentlemen,  mind. — This  is 
one  of  the  most  useful  figures  we  tragedy  writers 
have,  by  which  a  hero  or  heroine,  in  considera- 
tion of  their  being  often  obliged  to  overlook 
things  that  are  on  the  stage,  is  allow'd  to  hear 
and  see  a  number  of  things  that  are  not. 

Sneer.  \es; — a  kind  of  poetical  second-sight! 

Puff.  Yes  ; — now  then,  madam. 

'  Til.  I  see  their  decks 

•  Are  clear'd  !— I  see  the  signal  made  ! 

•  The  line  is  form'd  ! — a  cable's  length  asunder ! 
'  I  see  the  frigates  station'd  in  the  rear ; 

'  And  now,  I  hear  the  thunder  of  the  guns  ! 

'  I  hear  the  victor's  shouts ; — I  also  hear 

^  The  vanquished  groan  I — and  now  'tis  smoke  ; 

— and  now 
'  1  see  the  loose  sails  shiver  in  the  wind  ! 

•  I  see — I  see — what  soon  you'll  see — 

'•Gov.  Hold,  daughter !  peace!  this  love  hath 
turn'd  thy  brain : 
'  The  Spanish  fleet  thou  canst  not  see — because 
;  — It  is  not  yet  in  sight !' 

Dan  Egad  tho',  the  governor  seems  to  make 
no  allowance  for  this  poetical  figure  you  talk  of 

Puff.  No,  a  plain  matter-of-fact  man  ; — that's 
his  character. 

'-  Til.  But  will  you  then  refuse  his  offer  ? 

•  Gov.  I  must — I  will — I  can — 1  ought — I  do, 
5  * 


54  THE  CRITIC. 

'  Til.  Think  what  a  noble  price. 

'  Gov    No  niore  ; — you  urge  in  vain. 

'  Til.  His  Hberty  is  all  he  asks.' 

Sneer.  All  who  asks,  Mr.  Puff?  Who  is — 

P^iff.  Egad,  sir,  I  can't  tell.— Here  has  been 
such  cutting  and  slashing.  I  don't  know  where 
they  have  got  to  myself. 

Til.  Indeed,  sir,  you  will  find  it  will  connect 
very  well. 
'  — And  your  reward  secure.' 

Pnff.  O, — if  they  hadn't  heen  so  devilish  free 
with  their  cutting  here,  you  would  have  found 
that  Don  Whiskerandos  has  been  tampering  for 
his  liberty,  and  has  persuaded  l  ilburma  to  make 
this  proposal  to  her  father; — and  now  pray  ob- 
serve the  conciseness  with  which  the  argument 
is  conducted.  Egad,  the  pro  and  con  goes  as 
smart  as  hits  in  a  fencing  match,  it  is  indeed 
a  sort  of  small-sword  logic,  which  we  have  bor- 
rowed from  the  French. 

'  Til.  A  retreat  in  Spain  I 

'  Gov.  Outlawry  here  ! 

'  Til.  Your  daughter's  prayer! 

'  Gov.  Your  iather's  oath  1 

'Til.  My  lover! 

'  Gov.  My  country  ! 

'Til.  Tilburina!" 

'  Gov.  England ! 

'  Til.  A  title  ! 

'  Gov.  Honour ! 

'  Til  A  pension  ! 

'  Gov.  Conscience  ! 

'  Til.  A  thousand  pounds  ! 


THE  CRITIC.  55 

*  Gov.  Hah  !  thou  hast  touch'd  me  nearly  !* 
Puff'  There  you  see  ; — she  threw  in  Tilburi- 
na^  Quick,  parry  cart  Avith  England! — Hah! 
thrust  in  tierce  a  title — parried  by  honour — 
Hah  !  a  pension  over  the  arm ! — put  by  by  con- 
science.— Then  flankonade  with  a  thousand 
pounds— and  a  palpable  hit  egad  I 
'  Til.  Canst  thou— 

*  Reject  the  suppliant.,  and  the  daughter  too  ? 

'  Gov.  No  more ;  I  vvou'd  not  hear  thee  plead 
in  vain, 

*  The  father  softens, — but  the  governor 

'  Is  fix'd  I'  [Crosses  and  Exit^  l.h. 

Dan.  Aye,   that    antithesis    of  persons — is   a 
most  establish''d  figure. 

'  Til.  ' Tis  well, — hence  then,  fond  hopes, 
' fond  passion,  hence  ; 

*  Duty,  behold,  I  am  all  over  thine — 

'  Whisk.  {Without.^  r.h.)  Where  is  my  love— 

my — 
'  Til.  Ha ! 

Enter  Don  Whiskerandos,  f..h. 

•  Whisk.  My  beauteous  enemy  ! — 
Pvff.  O,  dear  ma'am,  you  must  start  a  great 
deal  more  than  that ;  consider,  you  have  just 
determined  in  favour  of  duty, — when,  in  a  mo- 
ment, the  sound  of  his  voice  revives  your  pas- 
sion,— overthrows  your  resolution,  destroys  your 
obedience.— If  you  don't  express  all  that  in  your 
start, — you  do  nothing  at  all. 
Til  Well,  we'll  try  again  ! 


^6  THE  CRITIC. 

Dan.  Speaking  from  within,  has  always  a  iine 
effect. 

Sneer.  Very. 

'  Whisk.  My  conquering  Tilburina  !  How  !  is't 
thus  [mean? 

'  We  meet  ?    Why  are  thy  looks   averse  !  what 
'  That  falling  tear, — that  frown  of  boding  wo? 
'  Hah  !  now  indeed  1  am  a  prisoner  ! 
''  Yes,  now  1  feel  the  galling  weight  of  these 
'  Disgraceful  chains,  -which,  cruel  Tilburina! 
'  Thy  doating  captive  gloried  in  before. — 

*  But  thou  art  false,  and  Whiskerandos  is  undone  1 

'  Til.  O  no  ;  how  little  dost  thou  know  thy  Til- 
burina !  [doubts,  and  fears  ; — 
'  Whisk.  Art  thou  then   true  ?  Begone  cares, 
'  I  make  you  all  a  present  to  the  winds  ; 

*  And  if  the  winds  reject  you, --try  the  waves.' 

Puff'  The  wind,  you  know,  is  the  established 
receiver  of  all  stolen  sighs,  and  cast-off  griefs 
and  apprehensions. 

'  Til.  Yet  must  we  part  ?— Stern  duty  seals 
our  doom  :  [ness, 

*  Though  here  I  call  yon  conscious  clouds  to  wit- 
'  Could  I  pursue  the  bias  of  my  soul, 

'  All  friends,  all  right  of  parents  I'd  disclaim, 
'  And  thou,  my  Whiskerandos,  should'st  be  father, 
'  And  mother,  brother,  cousin,  uncle,  aunt, 
'  And  friend  to  me  !  [we  part  ? 

'  Whisk.  O  matchless  excellence ! — and   must 
'  Well,  if"- we  must— we  must—and  in  that  case 
'  The  less  is  said  the  better.' 

Puff.  Hey  day  !  here's  a  cut  I — What,  are  all 
the  mutual  protestations  out  ? 


THE  CRITIC.  57 

Til.  Now,  pray,  sir,  donH  interrupt  us  just 
here;  you  ruin  our  feelings. 

Pvff.  Your  feelings! — but,  zounds,  my  feel- 
ings, ma'am ! 

Sneer.  No  ;  pray  don't  interrupt  them. 

'  Whisk    One  last  -^iiibrace. — 

'  Til.  Now, — farewell,  for  ever. 

'  Whisk.  For  ever  ! 

*  Til.  Aye,  for  ever.'  {Going.,  r.h.) 

Puff.  S'death  and  fury  !— Gadslife !  sir!  Ma- 
dam, if  you  go  out  without  the  parting  look,  you 
might  as  well  dance  out— i^ere,  here  ! 

Con.  But  pray,  sir,  how  am  /  to  get  off  here  ? 

Puff.  Fow,  pshaw  !  what  the  devil  signities 
how  you  get  off!  edge  away  at  the  top,  or 
where  you  will. — {Pushes  the  Confidant  out.) 
Now  ma'am,  you  see  — 

Til.  We  understand  you,  sir. 
•  Ave,  for  ever. 

'Both.  Oh! 

[Turning  back^  and  Exeunt^  Til.  l.h.  Whisk,  r.h. 

Drop  Scene. 

Enter  Under  Prompter,  l.h. 

Under  P.  Sir,  the  carpenter  says  it  is  impos- 
sible you  can  go  to  the  park  scene  vet. 

Puff  The  park  scene  !  No  ; — I  mean  the  de- 
scription scene  here,  in  the  wood. 

Under  P.  Sir,  the  performers  have  cut  it  out. 

Puff.  Cut  it  out  ? 

Under  P.  Yes.  sir. 


58  THE  CRITIC. 

Puff.  What !  the  whole  account  of  queen 
Elizabeth  ? 

Under  P.  Yes,  sir. 

Puff-  And  ihe  description  of  her  horse  and 
side-saddle? 

Under  P.  Yes,  sir. 

Puff.  So,  so,  this  is  very  fine  indeed !  Mr. 
Hopkin?!,  how  the  plasa^ue  could  you  suffer  this? 

Prompter.  {Fro7n  within^  l.h  )  Sir,  indeed  the 
pruning  knife — 

Puff.  The  pruning  knife,— zounds  the  axe  ! 
why,  here  has  been  such  lopping  and  topping,  I 
shan't  have  the  bare  trunk  of  my  play  left  pre- 
sently.—Very  well,  sir— the  performers  must  do 
as  they  please,  but,  upon  my  soul,  I'll  print  it 
every  word. 

Sneer.    That  I  would  indeed. 

Ptff.  Very  well — sir — then  we  must  go  on;-— 
zounds  I  would  not  have  parted  with  the  de- 
scription of  the  horse  1 — Well,  sir,  go  on. — Sir, 
it  was  one  of  the  finest  and  most  laboured  things ; 
— Very  well,  sir,  let  them  go  on  ; — there  you 
had  him  and  his  accoutrements  from  the  bit  to 
the  crupper  ; — very  well,  sir,  we  must  go  to  the 
park  scene. 

Under  P.  Sir,  there  is  the  point ;— the  car- 
penters say,  that  unless  there  is  some  business 
put  in  here  before  the  drop,  they  shan't  have 
time  to  clear  away  the  fort,  or  sink  Gravesend 
and  the  river. 

Puff.  So  !  this  is  a  pretty  dilemma  truly  !— 
Gentlemen,  you  must  excuse  me ; — these  fellows 
will  never  be  ready,  unless  I  go  and  look  after 
them  mvself 


THE  CRITIC.  59 

Sneer.  O  dear  sir ;— these  little  things  will 
happen — 

Puff.  To  cut  out  this  scene  ! — but  I'll  print  it ; 
— egad,  I'll  print  it  every  word  ! 

EnUr  a  Beefeater,  l.h.  u.e. 

*  Beef.  Perdition  catch  my  soul  but  /  do  love 

thee  ' 
Sneer.  Haven't  I  heard  that  line  before  ? 
Puff.  No,  I  fancy  not — Where  pray? 
Dan.  Yes  I  think  there  is  sonaething  hke  it  in 
Othello. 

Piff.  Gad !  now  you  put  me  in  mind  on*t,  I 
believe  there  is  ; — but  that's  of  no  consequence; 
— all  that  can  be  said  is,  that  two  people  hap- 
pened to  hit  on  the  same  thought, —  and  Shaks- 
peare  made  use  of  it  first,  that  s  all. 
Sneer.  Very  true. 

Piiff.  Now,  sir,  your  soliloquy  ; — but  speak 
more  to  the  pit,  if  you  please ; — the  soliloquy 
always  to  the  pit,  that's  a  rule.  [despair, 

'  Beef.  Tho'   hopeless   love   finds   comfort  in 
'  It  never  can  endure  a  rival's  bliss  ! 
'  But  soft-  -I  am  observ'd.'     [Exit.,  Beefeater,  r.h. 
Dan.  That's  a  very  short  soliloquy. 
Puff.  Yes,— but  it  would  have  been   a  great 
deal  longer  if  he  had  not  been  observed. 

Sneer.  A  most  sentimental  Beefeater  that,  Mr. 
Puff. 

Puff.  Hearkye — I  would  not  have  you  be  too 
sure  that  he  is  a  Beefeater. 

Sneer.  What,  a  hero  in  disguise  ? 


CO  THE  CRITIC. 

Puff.  No  matter, — I  only  give  you  a  hint. — 
But  now  for  my  principal  character. — Here  he 
comes  ; — Lord  Burleigh  in  person  ! — Pray,  gen- 
tlemen, step  this  way  ; — softly — 1  only  hope  the 
Lord  High  Treasurer  is  perfect ! — If  he  is  but 
perfect — 

Enter  Burleigh,  r.h.  goes  slowly  to  a  chair  and  sits. 

Sneer.  Mr.  Puff! 

Puff.  Hush  !  vastly  well,  sir  !  vastly  well !  a 
most  interesting  gravity  ! 

Dan.  What,  isn't  he  to  speak  at  all  ? 

Puff.  Egad,  I  thought  you'd  ask  me  that  ;— 
yes,  it  is  a  very  likely  thing,— that  a  minister  in 
his  situation,  with  the  whole  affairs  of  the  nation 
on  his  head,  should  have  time  to  talk  ;~-but  hush  ! 
or  you'll  put  him  out. 

Sneer.  Put  him  out  I  how  the  plague  can  that 
be,  if  he's  not  going  to  say  any  thing? 

Puff.  There's  a  reason!  why,  his  part  is  to 
think^  and  how  the  plague  !  do  you  imagine  he 
can  think  if  you  keep  talking? 

Dan.  That's  very  true,  upon  my  word  ! 

[Burleigh  comes  forward.,  shakes  his  head.,  and 
exit.,  R.H. 

Sneer  He  is  very  perfect  indeed. — Now,  pray 
what  did  he  mean  by  that  ? 

Puff.  You  don't  take  it? 

Sneer.  No ;  I  don't  upon  my  soul. 

Puff.  Why,  by  that  shake  of  the  head,  he 
gave  you  to  understand,  that  even  tho'  they  had 
more  justice  in  their  cause,  and  wisdom  in  their 


THE  CRITIC,  61 

measures,— yet,  if  there  was  not  a  greater  spirit 
shewn  on  the  part  of  the  people,— the  country 
would  at  last  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  hostile  ambi- 
tion of  the  Spanish  monarchy. 

Sneer.  The  devil  !--did  he  mean  all  that  by 
shaking  h  s  head. 

Puff.  Every  word  of  it ;— if  he  shook  his  head 
as  I  taught  him. 

Dan.  Ah  !  there  certainly  is  a  vast  deal  to  be 
done  on  the  stage  by  dumb  shew,  and  expression 
efface,  and  a  judicious  author  knows  how  much 
he  may  trust  to  it. 

Sneer.  O,  here  are  some  of  our  old  acquain- 
tance. 

Enter  Sm  C.  Hatton  and  Raleigh,  r.h. 

'  Sir  C.  My  niece,  and  your  niece  too  ! 

•  By  heav'n !  there's  witchcraft  in't. — He  could 

not  else 
'  Haye  gain'd  their  hearts. — But  see  where  they 
approach  ; 

•  Some  horrid  purpose  lowering  on  their  brows  I 

'  Sir  W.  Let  us  withdraw  and  mark  them.' 

{They  withdraw  to  the  Side.) 

Sneer.  What  is  all  this  ? 

Pvff.  Ah!  here  has  been  more  pruning  ! — but 
the  fact  is,  these  two  young  ladies  are  also  in 
love  with  Don  Whiskerandos. — Now,  gentle- 
men, this  scene  goes  entirely  for  what  we  call 
situation  and  stage  effect,  by  which  the  greatest 
applause  may  be  obtained,  without  the  assistance 
6 


62  THE  CRITIC. 

of  language,    sentiment,    or    character :    pray 
mark  ! 

Enter  the  two  Nieces^  l.h.  and  R.n. 

'  1  Niece.  Ellena  here  ! 

*  She  is  his  scorn  as  much  as  I ; — that  is 
'  Some  comfort  still!' 

Pnff.  O  dear  madam,  you  are  not  to  say  that 
to  her  face  \~aside^  ma'am,  aside. — The  whole 
scene  is  to  be  aside. 

'  1  JViece.  She  is  his  scorn  as  much  as  I ; — that  is 
'  some  comfort  still  !  {Aside.) 

'  2  Niece.  1  know  he  prizes  notPolUna's  love, 

*  But  Tilburina  lords  it  o'er  his  heart.     {Aside.) 

'  1  Niece.  But  see  the  proud  destroyer  of  my 
peace. 
'Revenge  is  all  the  good  I've  left.  {Aside.) 

*  2  Niece.  He  comes,  the  false  disturber  of 
my  quiet. 
'  Now,  vengeance,  do  thy  worst. —  {Aside.) 

Enter  Whiskerandos,  r.h.u.e. 

'  Whisk.  O,  hateful  liberty, — if  thus  in  vain 
'  I  seek  my  Tilburina ! 

'  Both  Nieces.  And  ever  shalt ! 
{Sir  Christopher.^  and  Sir  Walter  come  forward.) 
'  Both.   Hold  !   we  will  avenge  you. 
Whisk.  Hold  you — or  see  your  nieces  bleed ! 
{The  tzvo  Nieces  draw  their  two  daggers  to  strike 
Whiskerandos ;  the  two  Uncles  at  the  instant^ 
7vith  tkidr  two  swords  drawn.,  catch  their  itv>> 


THE  CRITIC.  63 

\ieees''    arms,  and   turn   the  points   of  their 

sixords    to    Whiskerandos^    who    immediately 

draws  two  daggers,  and  holds  them  to  the  two 

Kieces"-   bosoms.^ 

Puff.  There's  situation   for   you  !  there's  an 

heroic  group  ! — You  see   the   ladies  can't  stab 

Whiskerandos ; — he    durst  not   strike   them  for 

fear  of  their  uncles; — the  uncles   durst  not  kill 

him,  because  of  their  nieces. — I   have  them  all 

at  a  dead  lock  ! — for  every  one  of  them  is  afraid 

to  let  go  first. 

Sneer.  Why,  then  they  must  stand   there  for 
erer. 

Puff.  So  they  would,  if  I   hadn't  a  very  fine 
contrivance  for't. — Now  mind — 

Enter  Beefeater,  with  his  Halhert.^  r.h. 

■  Beef.  In  the  queen's  name  I  charge  you  all 

to  drop 
'  Your  swords  and  daggers]' 

(  They  drop  their  swords  and  daggers.) 
Sneer.  That  is  a  contrivance  indeed. 
Puff.  Ay  ; — in  the  queen's  name. 
^  Sir  C.  Come  niece  ! 
*  Sir  W.  Come  niece  ! 

[Exennt,  with  the  two  nieces.,  l.h. 
'  Whisk.  What's  he  who  bids  us  thus  renounce 

our  guard  ? 
■Beef  Thou  must  do  more, — renounce  thy 

love ! 
'  Whisk.  Thou  liest ;— base  Beefeater  ! 
'  Beef,  Ha  !  hell !  the  lie  ! 


(ii  THE  CRITIC. 

'  By  heav'n,  thou'st  rous'd  the  lion  in  my  heart! 

'  Off  yeoman's  habit ! — base  disguise  !    off!  off! 

(^Discovers  himself^  by  throwing  off"  his  dipper  dress, 

mid  appearing  in  a  very  fine  waistcoat.) 

'  Am  1  Beefeater  now  ? 

'  Or  beams  my  crest  as  terrible  as  when 

'  In  Biscay's  bay  I  took  thy  captive  sloop  ? 

Puff.  There,  egad  I  he  comes  out  to  be  the 
very  captain  of  the  privateer  who  had  taken 
Whiskerandos  prisoner; — and  was  himself  an  old 
lover  of  Tilburina's. 

Dan.  Admirably  manag'd  indeed. 
Pvff    Now,  stand  out  of  their  way. 
'  Whisk.  1  thank  thee,  Fortune  !  that  hast  thus 
bestow'd 
'  A  weapon  to  chastise  this  insolent. 

{Takes  up  one  of  the  swords.) 
'  Beef.  1  take  thy  challenge,  Spaniard,  and  1 
thank 
'  Thee,  Fortune,  too  !' 

{^Takes  up  the  other  sword.) 
Dan.  That's   excellently  contrived !  it  seems 
as  if  the  two  uncles  had  left  their  swords  on  pur- 
pose for  them. 

Puff.  No  egad,  they  could  not  help  leaving 

them. 
'  Whisk.  Vengeance  and  Tilburina ! 
'  Beef.  Exact!}'  so —     {They  fight., — and  after 
the  usual  number  of  wounds  glven^   Whiskerandos 
falls.) 

'  Whisk.  O  cursed  parry ! — that  last  thrust  in 
tierce 
»  Was  fatal : — Captain,  thou  hast  fenced  well ! 


THE  CRITIC.  65 

•  And  Whiskerandos  quits  this  bustling  scene 

*  For  all  eter — (Dies.) 

^  Beef.  — nity— He  would  have  added,  but 
stern  death 
'  Cut  short  his  being-,  and  the  noun  at  once !' 
Puff.  O,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  too  slow. — Now 
mind  me. — 
Sir,  shall  I  trouble  you  to  die  again  ? 

(  Whisk,  rises.) 
'  Whisk.  And  Whiskerandos  quits  this  bustling 
scene 
'For  all  eter — 

'  Beef.  — nity — He  would  have  added — 
Puff.  No,  sir, — that's  not  it ; — once  more  if 

you  please — 
Whisk.  \  wish,  sir, — you  would  practice  this 
without  me. — 
I  can't  stay  dying  here  all  night. 

Puff.  Very  well,  we'll  go  over  it  by  and  by  : 
— I  must  humour  these  gentlemen. 

[Exit  Whiskerandos.  r.h. 
'  Beef  Farewell, — brave  Spaniard  !  and  when 

next — 
Piff-  Dear  sir,  you  needn't  speak  that  speech, 
as  the  body  has  walked  off. 

Beef  1  hat's  true,  sir — then  I'll  join  the  fleet. 
Puff  If  you  please.  [Exit  Beefeater^  r.il 

Now,  who  comes  on  ? — Tilburina !  stark  mad,  in 
white  satin  ? — 

Sneer.  Why  in  white  satin  ? 
Piff'  O  Lord,  sir, — when  a  heroine  goes  mad, 
she  always  goes  into   white  satin  ; — Don't  she, 
Dangle  ? 


«6  THE  CRITIC. 

Dan.  Always  ; — it's  a  rule. 

Puff.  Yes — here  it  is, — {Looking  at  the  book.) 
'  Enter  Tilburina  stark  mad,  in  white  satin,  and 
her  confidant  stark  mad,  in  white  linen.' 

Enter  Tilburina  and  Conf[dant,  r.h.  mad^  accord- 


Sneer.  But  what  the  deuce,  is  the  confidant  to 
be  mad  too. 

Puff.  To  be  sure  she  is ; — the  confidant  is  al- 
ways to  do  whatever  her  mistress  does ;  weep 
when  she  weeps,  smile  when  she  smiles,  go  mad 
when  she  goes  mad. — Now  madam  confidant, — 
but  keep  your  madness  in  the  back  ground,  if 
you  please. 

'  Til  The  wind  whistles — the  moon  rises — see, 
'  Thty  have  kill'd  my  squirrel  in  his  cage  ! 
'  Is  this  a  grasshopper ! — Ha  !  no,  it  is  my 
'  Whiskerandos — you  shall  not  keep  him — 
'  I  know  you  have  him  in  your  pocket — 
'  An  oyster  may  be  cross'd  in  love ! — Who  says 
'  A  whale's  a  bird  ? — Ha  !  did  you  call,  my  love  ? 
''  — He's  here  !  He's  there  ! — He's  every  where  ! 
'  Ah  me  !  He's  no  where.' 

l^Exeunt  Tilburina^  and  Conjidant.,  r.h. 

Puff.  There,  do  you  ever  desire  to  see  any 
body  madder  than  that? 

Sneer.  Never  while  I  live  ! 

Puff.  You  observed  how  she  mangled  the 
metre  ! 

Dan.  Yes, — egad,  it  was  the  first  thing  made 
me  suspect  she  was  out  of  her  senses. 


THE  CRITIC.  (i7 

Sneer.  And  pray  what  becomes  of  her '? 

Puff  She  is  gone  to  throw  herself  into  the 
'sea  to  be  sure  ; — and  that  brings  us  at  once  to 
the  scene  of  action,  and  so  to  my  catastrophe, — 
my  sea-fight,  I  mean. 

Snee7\   What,  you  bring  that  in  at  last  ? 

Puff.  Yes, — yes  ; — you  know  my  play  is  called 
the  Spanish  Armada.,  otherwise,  egad,  I  have  no 
occasion  for  the  battle  at  ail. — Now  then  for  my 
magnificence  ! — my  battle  ! — my  noise  ! — and  my 
procession  ! — You  are  all  ready  ? 

Prom.  (  Within.)  Yes,  sir. 

Piff.  Is  the  Thames  drest? 

Enter  Thames,  l.h.  isDilh  tzi'o  Attendants. 

Thames.  Here  I  am,  sir. 

Puff.  Very  well  indeed.— See,  gentlemen, 
there's  a  river  for  you  ! — This  is  blending  a  lit- 
tle of  the  masque  w^th  my  tragedy; — a  new  fan- 
cy, you  know, — and  very  useful  in  my  case ;  for 
as  there  must  be  a  procession.,  I  suppose  I'hames 
and  all  his  tributary  rivers  to  compliment  Bri- 
tannia with  a  fete  in  honour  of  the  victory. 

Sneer.  But  pray,  who  are  these  gentlemen  in 
green  with  him  ? 

Puff.  Those  ?— Those  are  his  banks. 

Sneer.  His  banks  ? 

Piff.  Yes,  one  crown'd  with  alders,  and  the 
other  with  a  villa  ! — you  take  the  allusions? — 
But  hey  !  what  the  plague  !  you  have  got  both 
your  banks  on  one  side. — Here,  sir,  come  round. 
— Ever  while  you  live,  Thames,  go  between 


68 


THE  CRITIC. 


your  banks.  {Bell  rings.) — There,  soh!  now 
fort ! — Stand  aside,  my  dear  friends  I — away 
Thames ! 

[Exit  Thames  between  his  banks,  r.h. 
{Flourish  of  drums — trumpets — cannon^  <^c    ^c. 
Scene  changes  to  the  sea — the  Jieets  engage — 
the  music  plays  •  Britons   strike  home.'' — Spa- 
nish Jleet  destroyed  by  Jireships^  ^c. — English 
Jleet  advances — music  plays  '  Rule  Britannia.^ 
—  The  procession  of  all  the  English  rivers  and 
their  tributaries  zoith  their  emblems^  S^c.  6e- 
gins  with  HandeVs   water  music^  ends  with  a 
chorus.^  to  the  inarch  in   Judas  Maccabceus. — 
During  this  scenc^  Puff  directs   and  applauds 
every  thing — then.) 
Puff^    Well,  pretty  well ; — but  not  quite  per- 
fect ; — so  ladies  and  gentlemen,   if  you  please, 
we'll  rehearse  this  piece  again  to-morrow. 


Disposition  of  the  Characters  when  the  Curtain  falls. 


R.H. 


L.H. 


^ 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


W 


1  (r- 


■HMAl 


